Something To Remember
by deConstruction
Summary: [Sequel to Confide In Me] Does time really heal all wounds, or does some hurt run too deep to ever be cured? Slash! OC. Full Summary inside
1. I Want You

**Summary****: Happiness cannot be measured. Pain can bring you all life's little pleasures. 6 months after losing the one person they both loved, can John Cena and Jeff Hardy ever hope to truly mend their broken hearts? Does time really heal all wounds, or does some hurt run too deep to ever be cured? Slash! OC.**

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**_A/N_: New story. Here is the long awaited sequel to 'Confide In Me'. It's taken me a few months to get my head around it, but it's finally ready to be published. Thank you guys for waiting so patiently. **

**The ballad collection 'Something To Remember' has really been my inspiration for this story. Lyrics are taken from this album (unless stated otherwise) without permission.**

**To those who read my other stories, this isn't anything like my usual Randy/Trish universe. To begin with, it's a 'slash' story, that is to say a male/male paring. Added to that, it's an OC pairing. So its a wrestler with a created character, in this case Morgan Lee.**

**If the slash isn't your thing, don't read. I just want everyone to know what I'm writing before I write it. As a disclaimer, I don't own any wrestler or anything affiliated with WWE. .It's all owned by Vince McMahon and I don't have any permission to use any of it. It's just me obeying my creative muses. Morgan and Kade are my characters. The songs Morgan performs are taken from other artists; again I have no permission to use them.**

'**Confide In Me' came before this story, so if you haven't read that story none of this is going make any sense. So enough said. Here it is. I disclaim. I hope you guys enjoy.**

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_**I Want You**_

"_One way love is just a fantasy. To share is precious, pure and fair."_

'…_and in other news today, gay pop singer Morgan Lee has earned fierce criticism from religious and family groups for his performance at last night's Grammy awards. Mr. Lee, born in the United Kingdom, opened the ceremony performing a cover of Kylie Minogue's 'Better The Devil You Know'. Critics described the performance as a 'homo-erotic pole dance, completely unsuitable for a televised broadcast.' As this clips shows, Morgan performed the song dancing with a pole whilst wielding a leather riding crop. Surrounded by a group of male dancers, they were dressed in very little other than leather riding-garb. _

_The Grammy's executive committee today issued an unreserved apology to anyone offended by the show, and have promised to investigate how the performance was allowed to go ahead. _

_This controversy occurs just days after Morgan drew harsh chastisement around the world for acts committed on his new world tour. In the second segment of the show, Mr. Lee reportedly appears on stage performing a cover of Olivia Newton-John's 'Physical'. During the performance, the singer is allegedly engaged in simulated acts of a sexual nature with several male dancers. One critic for a pre-eminent news column described the scene as 'nothing short of a homosexual orgy' and 'absolutely unacceptable to civilised society'. _

_The Vatican has issued a statement calling for an immediate ban on the tour, calling for a police investigation into alleged acts of gross-indecency in a public forum. They have petitioned the Italian government to bar Mr. Lee entry to the country later this summer when his tour moves to Europe. _

_Several American pressure groups, lead by 'Concerned Families of America', are backing a petition to have Mr. Lee's CD's removed from sale in stores across America. Backed by several politicians and senators, they have called their move a 'protection for the innocent members of society.' _

_All this controversy comes days ahead of the release of the performers' new album, entitled 'Something To Remember'. The performer continues to hold a staunch 'no comment' position on his antics of late. His record label, the independent group 'Sweet Baby Girl Entertainment' has stood by Morgan, stating the right to artistic freedom and expression. Sources close to the singer have stated that…"_

_Click._

Hitting the power-off button on the remote, John Cena dropped the item onto the table. Landing with an audible clatter against the polished oak, John paid no further attention to the darkened television.

Glancing around the bare hotel room, his breath came out as a short sigh. Running his hand back over the short crop of his brown hair, his eyes became vacant. The steel blue gaze fell across the wall opposite him. It was almost as though his lack-lustre stare was searching the wall for something. He didn't know what. All John Cena did know, was that the silence left in the room now the television was off, was deafening. And it was just as unsettling.

In an effort to keep busy as much as create noise, John began pacing around the room. The worn, faded blue carpet of the standard hotel room was soft under foot, caressing the bare soles of John's feet. The pacing became a game almost. Every fourth step John took, the floorboard near the bed gave a faint squeak. Wondering if the wood had warped over the years, John all at once found himself by his bed. Not sure how he had ended on the bed, the wrestler didn't cease to continue moving. As though he were working on some kind of autopilot, his hand reached for the suitcase resting by the side of the bed.

The case was large, in a faded powder blue hue. It had been with John since he had started out in the wrestling business. His eldest brother had joked that it was his good luck charm. John couldn't help but doubt that, despite the fact he wouldn't go anywhere without it. If anything, his luck had turned for the worse. Everything seemed to have gone down hill since that day six months ago. That one fateful day in the airport, when -

_Stop it John. Don't go through this again. _Mentally chastising himself for bringing up heart-wrenching memories, John found himself unzipping his case anyway. Those memories were with him all the time. Constantly bubbling under the surface, John knew he would never be rid of them. Still, it wouldn't stop him from trying to forget.

Repeating the same actions he had been taking for the past six months, Cena carefully placed the case flat on top of the mattress. Carefully lifting the lid, an unorganized pile of clothes presented itself. Tee-shirts and jerseys of all colours and designs were all crammed in against one another, straining the objects' storage capacity to the limits. Shifting beneath the piles of tee-shirts and cut off shorts, Cena's fingers grasped for what he knew would be at the bottom.

It was smooth and glazed, and very much cool to the touch. His fingers travelled across the sides of the rectangle object, taking each straight line and ninety-degree corner with the gentle caress usually reserved for a lover. Already in his head, he could picture the object without seeing it. Somehow, touching it without seeing it made it more real to John.

With great care, John pulled the object free of the suit-case. It was a black photo album. The slight curve of the spine was well worn and showed signs of distress. It was probably because of the amount of times it had been opened over the past twenty-four weeks. The constant flipping and closing of the covers had taken its effect on the spine. The dark leather was lighter and cracked, with deep crevices of use.

And it was about to be opened again.

Almost lovingly, John carefully held the cover in his hand and pulled it to the side. The front page was a smooth ivory colour, unblemished with writing. A simple gold rectangle, imprinted as a border on the page, was the only visible marking on the paper. Carefully touching the page, John turned it to the next.

The double page was an explosion of colour and texture and picture. It was best described as a collage, a mixture of photographs and magazine clippings. The occasional newspaper article or scribbled note was woven between the lattice of pictures, creating a wall of image and word.

The common factor, either in the picture or the writing was simple. It was the one thing that had plagued John Cena's thoughts for the best part of two years. Though the reason for the near-obsession had changed through all that time, it was still centred on the same thing. _Morgan Lee. _Either the words or the picture of the singer set to life emotions in John that threatened to take him to the edge of his sanity. And even further again beyond those limits.

With an almost ironic smile, John looked with a swollen heart at the images before him. Picking a particular photograph, he could remember the scene like it was yesterday. It was the first time Morgan had come to a WWE event. John chuckled softly to himself, remembering just how excited Morgan had been. He was meeting all his favourite superstars, and getting to see a show live. That was something he had never done before, and was so thankful to get the opportunity to do. It was times like that seemed forever etched in John's memory. The way Morgan was older than his years, and yet could be reduced to nervous hiccups at such a token gesture.

Moving his eyes slightly, the next picture had just as many memories for John as the one before it. It was taken during the pair's visit to Albuquerque. Morgan had joked about it being a stain of the canvas of America. A gentle chuckle escaped John's lips. He could remember almost too vividly how Morgan had secretly confessed how he thought the residents were actually 'spiking' his soda with Holy water blessed by a local priest_. 'They're trying to cure me John.' _Morgan had joked.

The curve of Morgan's mouth in his beaming smile gripped the gut of Cena tightly, seemingly refusing to let go. The memory of Morgan's smile took a further tone. John's memory blended to the memory of Morgan's mouth on his. That soft pink curve pressing against his own mouth - gently tasting the bottom lip as his tongue skilfully worked it's way into his mouth. The feeling of Morgan's tongue sliding into his own mouth, teasing the flesh as it probed further was almost too much to bear.

Snapping the book shut, it fell to the floor as John's head fell into his hands. The book skidded away across the ground, far away from John's gasp. He preferred it that way, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his memories as he could.

Tears prickled at the back of his eyes. _Why was this still so hard? _After all this time, you'd think someone with the hometown roots of John Cena would be able to overcome a break-up. Surely the ties of family and friends were enough to overcome the heartache of a fleeting resonance that never _quite_ was. It seemed not. If anything, the longer John was apart from Morgan, the deeper the wound became. The aching, empty hole in the centre of his chest some how got that little bit wider every day. Sooner or later, John knew there would be nothing left of him at all. Just an empty hole where his heart should have been. No amount of family and friends or friendly faces could ever hope to fill it.

In a cloud of misery and heartbreak, the wrestler watched his actions in what felt like he was watching some kind of movie. His fingers found the steel chain to which his keys were attached on the top of a chest of drawers. As though fate had been premeditated by the circumstance, a baseball cap rested next to the keys. It was soon atop Cena's head, the peak pulled low down over his steel blue eyes as she slid his sneakers onto his feet.

In a haze, John had somehow made it out of his hotel room and through lobby to the garage below. Every face he passed was distant band blank, as though they weren't real people. Shunning any kind of human contact, John found his hire car parked where he had left. Pushing the button for his alarm, the lights flashed an intense amber glow as he unlocked it from afar. Sliding into the front seat, he brought the car to life with a feral growl as he revved the engine.

Speeding out to the road, night had already cast its blanket over the sky. Dots of light sparkled against the black backdrop, the air peppered with drops of icy cold rain. There were no headlights on the road ahead of John. Formless buildings ranging from stores to houses passed by as Cena ventured even further into the night. He told himself he didn't know where he was going - that this was just a spur of the moment thing. But he knew.

Pulling to a stop a block away from his destination, his car slowed to a complete halt. Gripping the rear-view mirror in his hand, John saw the reflection of his own tired greyish-blue eyes. His reflection stared back as impassively as John peered at it. Wanting some kind of validation to his actions, he couldn't bare to look at it anymore.

Getting out of his car, he pushed his hands into his pockets, bracing against the cool night air. Drops of rain patted his tee-shirt, leaving dots of darkened colour on the otherwise plain black.

Crossing the street, John Cena turned a corner. Stepping into an alleyway, he carefully looked both ways down the street. Certain there was no-one else around, he headed forward into the dark crevice. The sound of something rustling in a pile of cardboard boxes did nothing to still his agitated nerves. Quickening his pace, John ventured forward before coming to a stop. Almost camouflaged against the brick wall was a dark red door. Years of grime and dirt had built up into an effective disguise. It was good enough that if you didn't know that this door was there, you probably wouldn't notice it. John Cena knew where it was. In fact, he had visited far too many times over the past six months.

With surprising force, he thumped his fist against the darkened entrance. He heard the sound reverberating into the silence around him. It bounced around, whispering in indignation of what he was about to do. After a few moments, the door swung open. John was immediately bathed in the incandescent beams of a nightclub. Sound poured out of the door into the empty alleyway. Keeping his cap pulled low, John dared to look up into the face of the bouncer. He was old, possibly in his fifties. Dressed in a pair of jeans a black leather waist-coat, the material of his tee-shirt was stretched to almost breaking point.

Scratching his bulbous gut, the balding man simply nodded at John. Accepting the wad of notes John handed him, he stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The bouncer had worked there long enough to recognise John Cena whenever he came to the back door. And he wasn't the only more well know _patron_ to approach the nightclub from the back entrance. It was clear that some people just did not want to be seen taking the front way. That way you could be seen. And recognised. Coming in this way, you weren't as obvious. You could blend in without fear of discovery.

For John, it was almost ironic that he would take the _back entrance _into a gay club. In some way, it was a scathing commentary to his life. Escaping the darkened reality in which he was trapped, he took the most degrading way into a life he didn't want, but somehow couldn't live without.

It was already thriving in the club. Not much else could be expected for a Friday night. Just before midnight, and it was full to capacity with men and the occasional woman. The back entrance led into the area where the club's toilets were situated. Keeping his eyes low, John walked forward, pretending not to notice the men pawing at each other in the darkened corners of the area. If the staff of the club were willing to let such activities go on, who was he to pass judgement?

Hurrying through the archway, John came into the main area of the club. It was a lot hotter in here, with the smoke machine making the entire room hazy and surreal. Lights glittered and flashed as the collective mass on the dance floor throbbed with eroticism. John didn't recognise the song that was exploding from the speakers, but he could certainly appreciate the low sultry beats that it came with.

Everywhere he looked, men were engaged in varying sexual activities. They ranged from the innocent to the outright brazen. Keeping to the wall, John slowly navigated the room. Trying his best not to look up, he still had to get what he came for. Daring to look up, his vision was obscured by two men dressed in leather S&M gear. One was tugging harshly on the other man's nipple as he seemed to devour his neck.

Glancing past, John saw several younger, fresh faced men dancing wildly on a platform. They were in various states of undress, but seemed to be having the time of their lives. As he passed, a particularly zealous man saw it fit to thrust his rear into John's face. Recoiling in abject terror, John staggered past, finding himself nearly collapsing on the bar.

It was there that he saw him.

Perched carefully on a bar stool, he seemed quite out of place in the surroundings. Dressed in tight fitting dark denim jeans, his toned body was hiding behind a tight black tee-shirt. His dark hair was swept back, exposing his face. He was incredibly handsome, having an almost beautiful appearance to him. He was a lot thinner than a lot of the men in the club, and of obvious Mediterranean background. Beautiful dark looks and a round, tight bottom, and John couldn't help but wonder why no-one had snapped him up already. As the man sat there, playfully chewed on the straw protruding from his glass, John found the innocent action intoxicating. Every now and then his tongue would flick out to catch the straw, sucking it in between his plump lips.

He too was looking around the club too, perhaps eyeing up the potential of the men around him. Obviously not interested in anything he had seen so far, he craned his neck. Looking directly at him, John noted the slight smile that appeared on his face as he made no attempt to hide the fact he was checking out his body. And who wouldn't? The bulging muscles that were hinted at just beneath his tee-shirt had attracted many hungry glances already. But John only had eyes for the man in front of him.

Making no effort to move, John waited as the other man finally hoped down off his stool. Casually making his way towards John, his hips wound to the music as he walked. Finally reaching John, the man smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth. His dark eyes were soft and inquisitive. It disturbed John slightly at how good he was becoming at spotting first-timers in clubs as these. He could pick them out of a crowd of over hundred people. It made him feel dirty, like he was a predator stalking the unwary. Maybe he actually was. But it was a secondary concern.

Without any indication of his intentions, John simply leant forward. Catching the back of the dark-haired man's neck with his hand, he pressed his lips against the man's mouth. Moving his lips gently, John carefully tasted the other man's lips. He tasted of alcohol, perhaps some sort of fruit cocktail. Pulling back, John's face remained expressionless. The other man was clearly breathless, grinning wildly as he traced his bottom lip with his tongue.

Without bothering to make any form of introduction, John took the man's hand in his own. Turning, he headed back towards the archway where the toilets were located. He met no resistance from the dark haired man; he simply fell into step behind him.

Avoiding eye contact with bouncer, John led the man outside. Hearing the back door to the club close behind him, John quickly checked out the alley. It was still completely empty, and engulfed in the silence of the night. The rain had stopped, but there was a more pronounced breeze than before. Oblivious to the cold, John saw the other man shiver and was totally unmoved. He wasn't out here to be concerned with well-being of someone else. There was only one thing he was out here for.

Gripping him by the shoulders, John pushed the dark haired man back against the wall. Closing the gap, his lips went straight for the man's neck. His mouth was hot against the flushed skin, his tongue demanding and dominant, tasting as much of the flesh as he wanted.

His partner was obviously caught by surprise, but moaned softly as John's mouth kissed his neck. More than willing to be dominated, he let his fingers roam over John's back, exploring every contour of every muscle he could reach. The man squeaked softly as Cena's hands suddenly grabbed him by the wrists, pinning them against the wall. Now he looked a little unsure as he glanced up at John, chewing his bottom lips nervously. Realising he was being a little too forceful, John leant his head forward, kissing him softly. Obviously reassured by the more tender display, the dark haired man smiled. "I'm Marco. What's your…"

Marco lost his voice somewhere in his throat as John closed his mouth over his. He didn't care about the man's name. He didn't want to know. Names made it too personal. That wasn't what this was about.

The kiss was hot and rough, John's tongue anything but gentle and loving like they had been moments before. His hands were all over Marco's, kneading the flesh beneath his touch. Marco moaned softly, hooking his leg around John's waist. Feeling the growing hardness of Cena's crotch against his own, Marco slipped his hand down between John's legs. Gripping the bulge in his fist, he began to squeeze the flesh, making stroking motions over the material. John stopped his assault on Marco's neck to grunt softly.

Taking the advantage while he could, Marco deftly slipped to his knees. Gripping the belt, he quickly unbuckled it, making short work of John's zipper. In one move, he had John's jeans and boxer shorts pulled down around his muscled thighs. Feeling the cold night air caress his bare backside, John shuddered slightly. His manhood danced in front of Marco, bringing a greedy smile to dark haired man's lips. Gripping the base of John's member in his fist, he easily took the head into his mouth.

John groaned as he felt the hot mouth cover him. Resting his hand against the wall for support, he lowered his other to catch the back of Marco's head. With steady pressure, he guided Marco's mouth over his hardness. Marco was more than willing, and apparently not was innocent as John had once thought. He took as much of the length into his mouth as he could, surprising John easily. Most of his hook-ups could get to the half way mark before they started spluttering and gagging. Not Marco. He relished in his ministrations. With two thirds buried in his throat, his head rocked back and forth, sending spasms of pleasure through John's gut.

Leaning over, he gripped Marco beneath the arms. Lifting him back to his feet, he span the other man around. Marco chuckled to himself as legs were spread under him. Lying flush against the wall, he was under no illusions of what was coming next. John was by no means as considerate with Marco's clothing. Grabbing the waist of his jeans, he yanked them down roughly. They fell easily to Marco's ankles, exposing the fact he wasn't wearing any underwear.

Marco heard the sound of a foil packet tearing, guessing that John had brought protection with him. Arching his back, he lifted his rear upwards to be as inviting as he could. This was the kind of thing he fantasised about. Meeting a stranger, just to be taken into a seedy alleyway and being taken control of. Shudder with excitement, he continued to grind his naked buttocks, desperate for the of John's skin against his own. Grinning to himself, he heard John spitting into his hand, and braced himself against the wall.

Gripping his manhood in his hand, John held himself against Marco's secret entrance. Feeling the resistance of the tight ring of muscles, he redoubled his efforts, pushing forward. Marco groaned, more out of pain than enjoyment. Without any kind of preparation, this was more uncomfortable than it had to be. Still, he said nothing. He did his best to lean backwards onto John's hardness, trying to make it easier for him to enter his passage. John continued to push forward, feeling heat envelope him as he pushed deeper. Finally, he stopped invading Marco, holding himself still as his dark haired lover panted through the discomfort.

With barely time to get used to the feeling of John inside him, Marco hissed through his teeth as John began pulling out of him. With a lot more force than the last time, John pushed himself forward, thrusting deeply. Marco groaned, his fingers trying desperately to grip against the wall in front of him. John seemed oblivious as he trusted again and again, each time with more force than before. All around him, the alley fell away. It was replaced by the hotel room. The one in which he had first made love to Morgan. He could just about see Morgan's face before him. His eyes closed in the throws of ecstasy, he could hear Morgan's voice daring him to go harder, whispering his encouragement.

The sound of Morgan moaning in pleasure was the easily the most erotic thing he had ever heard. And it was all he could hear. Grabbing Marco's hips, John continued to spear inside, grunting each time his member disappeared into the flesh. In his ears, he could here Morgan screaming his name, his hands gripping John's legs as he bucked his hips to keep in time with the pace. John trusted harder, forcing himself as hard as he could into _Morgan. _Marco groaned uncomfortably against the assault as John continued to pound into him, a fresh grunt as did so. If he went deep enough, _Morgan_ would hurt more. If he trusted harder, John was certain he could force all the heartache inside out of himself and back into _Morgan_ where it belonged. He deserved to hurt as much as John did.

The channel tighter than a fist, John groaned at the friction stimulating him. Between the physical exertion and the memory of hurting the lover that had crushed his heart, it wasn't long before he felt the familiar sensations inside him as his climax built. His pace increased, his hips bucking with an increased sense of urgency. Marco moaned louder at the increased rhythm, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he wanted it to just be over.

John's voice came out as a long groan. His thrusting ceased as he felt the white hot release pulse through his vein, centring in the pit of his stomach. His body shuddered briefly as he emptied himself. His hops bucked spasmodically with force of everything being expelled inside him. His voice sounded a mess in his own ears, a jumble or words spilling over his lips the moment of agonising ecstasy. The last waves rode through John, and sanity resumed. Holding himself steady, his heart pounded wildly inside his chest, his breath a ragged gasp in his own ears.

As if realising where he was for this first time tonight, John pulled himself roughly backwards, removing his rapidly softening member out of Marco. Removing the used condom, John couldn't get his pants back up quickly enough. Fastening the belt at his waist, he did his best not to make any kind of eye contact with Marco. Marco had other ideas.

"Who is Morgan?" It was an honest question, but it made John feel like he was about to have a heart attack. With John looking at him, he asked the question again. "Who is Morgan? You said his name when you came. He your boyfriend or something?"

John shook his head from side to side. "He's no-one." Turning his back to Marco, Cena pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. There was nothing more to say. Marco didn't seem entirely bothered. Pulling his jeans back up, he fastened them before removing a cigarette. Grinning in John's direction, he placed it between his lips.

Nausea threatened to overcome John as he realised exactly what he had just done. Unable to look Marco in the face, John left his back facing the dark haired man's direction. Before he knew what he was doing, he had broken into a run. His arms swung at his sides, his feet thundering against the solid floor as he threw himself towards his car. He had to escape, and he had to do it now.

John honestly couldn't remember how he had made it back to his apartment. The journey was non existent in his mind. He was far to preoccupied with having just had sex with Morgan. _Marco. His name was Marco._

Bursting through the door, he headed straight for the bathroom. Turning the shower on, he ripped at his clothes, throwing them carelessly away as he stepped inside the cubicle. Warm tears were lost in the water raining down from the shower above. It beat down in warm waves against his skin, clearing him of any lingering impurities that still stained his skin. But it wasn't enough for John.

Grabbing the coarse nail brush from the soap dish, he began rubbing it against his skin. The brush scraped back and forth, bringing an angry red hue to his arms and chest. He scrubbed as though his life depended on it. If he scrubbed hard enough, maybe he scrub away the lasting imprint Morgan had made on his heart. John Cena was stained with the love of another man. It had been a blessing, but now was his eternal curse. Trapped in the bosom of his own emotion, John knew he was slowly losing his grip on reality. Time had done nothing to heal the wounds Morgan had left. They only festered.

Scrubbing his skin, John silently begged to be free of this hurt. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, he would never be free.

He was still in love with Morgan.


	2. I'll Remember

**A/N:**** Updated. A new chapter for your reading pleasure. For those of you querying Jeff's whereabouts, here he is. Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter, it was a lot darker than anything I've written before. Apologies for not giving adequate warning to the sexual content in the previous chapter. I'll remember in future.**

**Please read and review. There's another shout-out in this chapter, hidden somewhere in the text. Happy hunting. I disclaim. I don't have permission to use the lyrics from 'I'll Remember'. Kade is my own creation. Please read and review.**

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"_Now that I'm standing on my own, I'll remember the way that you changed me."_

**I'll Remember**

_Light. Blinding white light. _

_Covering me. Can't see. Can't think. A voice. Female. Soft. Gentle. _

_No! Get away from me. I don't need you. _

_I don't need anyone. _

_Pain. In my fist. Her face. I punched her. I…I didn't mean to. She got in the way. Why did I do that? She tried to…I don't know what she tried. But I can't stay here. How did I even get here?_

_I have to get away. Can't concentrate. Can't think. Time seems so sluggish around me. Why won't I move? What's wrong with me? My head is swimming…_

_Where am I?_

_My car. Where are the keys?_

_Just put them in the ignition. Get the car running. That's it. The engine is running. It's soothing. What is it soothing? My mind? My heart?_

_Pain! Bright. Biting. It hurts so bad. My chest. It feels like my chest has collapsed. What happened? Where is my car?_

_Matt. Matt, is that you? I can barely hear you. Speak louder, dammit! Tell me what's happening! _

_What is wrong with me? That noise. It's so loud! Too loud! _

_Make it stop! Please! Make it all stop. _

_I don't want to feel this way anymore…_

Either the crashing sound of blood in his own ears, or the nausea twisting in his gut woke Jeff out of his nightmare. Rolling over to the side, his head pounded with all the intensity of an industrial jack-hammer. His temples burned mercilessly into his skull, his brain dancing like a salsa contest on the inside. Desperately, his mind tried to free itself from the fog of the dream, to no avail. It was sluggish, to the point where it was a struggle to even form the most basic of thoughts.

His eyes felt swollen and sore, protruding like he was part frog. His eyelids opened gingerly, feeling as though they had sealed together and were now breaking the skin apart by opening. Rolling to his left to shield himself from the light, Jeff realised too late that he had been lying on a bed. With a resounding thump, he toppled to the ground, landing awkwardly on his shoulder. Even with the new throbbing of his arm, Jeff's entire body screamed in pain. Every muscle felt as though it had been ripped out of his body and placed in the freezer. Once completely frozen, it was like they had been stitched lazily back inside his skin. Every inch groaned with agony, ready to shatter at the slightest pressure.

Crawling on his belly, the world refused to right itself in Jeff's vision. It was as though he'd left his eyes up on the bed and they were spinning around the room. Mercifully, he had the strength to reach the waste paper basket that was tucked beneath the desk next to the bed. Grabbing at it like it were the fountain of youth, Jeff cradled it to his chest, just as the bile rose from the back his throat into the cavity of his mouth.

Retching forward, the contents of his stomach voided itself through his oesophagus and into the waste paper basket. It was a viscous brown colour, carrying an even more nauseating acrid smelling. The flood of vomit poured from Jeff's mouth like a waterfall. It gushed forward so violently that Jeff was certain he was coughing his very stomach out through his mouth. Just as ht was sure he was about to choke on his own vomit, the flood stopped. Resting awkwardly on the basket, Jeff lowered himself back to the ground. The back of his wrist drew itself over his mouth, catching the stray splatters of vomit mixed with salvia.

Resting on his back, he tried to resume a regular breathing pattern, but it seemed impossible. His chest rose haphazardly, his breath an occasional rasp. If his body were co-operating, Jeff would have rolled into a foetal position. But the atrophy like numbness spreading to his limbs prevented. Indeed, Jeff was content to simply lay there and fester. As long as he didn't have to move anymore, he didn't care.

Obviously somebody higher up wasn't content to let him lay there and die. The sound of the door to the room opening resonated inside Jeff's thudding skull. His squeezed his eyes closed against the invading light from the open door as much they did to block out the feeling of sickness that invaded him.

Jeff couldn't be sure, but he felt as though there was someone else in the room with him. They moved quietly, not making their presence known either by design or accident. Whatever the reason, Jeff wanted them to leave. He was suffering, and didn't want to be around anyone. His mouth felt drier than a desert in the height of summer, evaporating any words before they could free themselves. It didn't matter it seemed, as whoever it was in the room wasn't up for talking much either.

He knew he wasn't alone when the curtains rattled with the force of being opened. Sunshine poured through the windows, searing into Jeff's eyes. The room became blinding, like he fallen into a white hot furnace. Despite the protestation of his muscles, Jeff threw his arm across his eyes in an effort to block out the light. The action set to life another wave of vomit that bubbled up from his stomach. Groaning with the effort, he rolled back onto his stomach. Finding the waste paper basket once more, no sooner had his head been vanished into the bin had the vomit came. His stomach clenched painfully, churning out even more disgusting brown liquid. Tears stung Jeff's burning eyes like vinegar. They squeezed from beneath his eyelids, trailing cool rivers down his burning cheeks.

His body shuddered with the effort of purging itself, causing Jeff to almost loose his grip on the basket. He slumped back to the ground, more than prepared to die here and now on the floor. Anything would be preferable to this punishment, however deserved he assured himself it was.

Mercy came in the form of a pair of cool hands on the sides' of Jeff's face. His eyes sealed themselves closed against the harsh reality of being awake, so he didn't know who they belonged to. It didn't matter. All he knew was that the smooth fingers felt could of his head, stroking his hair and brushing away his tears. Jeff felt the damp cloth run over his cheeks and lips, getting rid of the last traces of anything that had come from his insides.

Just when he was starting to feel a little better, the hands suddenly left him. Despite their protestations, Jeff forced his eyes to open. The orbs were a diluted, murky green. Unfocused and red, they had difficulty on focusing on just about anything. He could make out the shape of the person in the room, but finer details were lost to him.

The voice sounded as though it were coming from under water. Muffled, it sounded distant. "Jeff. Can you sit up?"

He obliged, managing to prop himself up on his eyebrows. The figure stayed silent for a moment, a blurry haze against the light from the windows standing over him. "Must have been some night. Can you remember what you took?"

"Who are you?" His own voice sounded like sandpaper scraping on stone in his own ears. He was dehydrated, his throat burning from the flurry of vomiting.

As he introduced himself, so did Jeff's eyes finally get used to be open. Blinking in rapid succession, he could finally make out the features of his visitor. He was roughly around the six foot mark, with a toned athletic figure reminiscent of a swimmer's build. Wearing a plan black tee-shirt and a loose fitting pair of denim-blue jeans, his obviously well-worn sneakers protruded from beneath the bottoms. His hair hung down in soft waves of dark blonde around his sky-blue eyes, reaching down to his cheek bones. His features were handsome and youthful, perhaps no older that his early twenties. His full lips formed a sort of half smile as he spoke. "My name is Kadence Schaeffer-Hamilton. Most people call me Kate. You can, if you like."

"Who are you?" Jeff repeated, his mind in not fit state to process such complex information. In a move that threatened to release even more of the contents of his stomach, Jeff slowly sat up.

"I just told you. If you mean why am I here, you should probably be a little more specific. "Jeff waves his hand blankly at Kade, resisting the urge to drop back down onto his back. "I've been assigned to you Jeff, as a personal request by Vince McMahon. Think of me as your assistant."

"I don't need an assistant." Jeff's voice was nothing more than a groan, his head resting itself against his raised knows.

"Not that I'm one to judge or anything, but you were lying face down on the floor in a puddle of your own puke. I think it's fair to say you're not exactly capable of caring for yourself right now." Kade's blue eyes sparkled with intrigue as Jeff continued to hold his head against his knees.

"I'm fine." With a grim smile, Jeff delivered the line he had been practicing to perfection since before he could remember. From the death of his mother to his recent heartbreak, he could lie with the best of them.

"Your blood test would actually disagree with you there Mr. Hardy." Kade took on a more formal tone. "There was an alarmingly high concentration of _codeine _and_ Methaqualone _in your system. Looks like someone was trying to get high and euphoric all at once, washed down with a good dose of beer. That's an incredibly dangerous cocktail of substances to be taking Jeff."

"You need to learn how to have a good time kid." Jeff grunted. Lifting his head from his knees, his hair fell in lazy strands around his face.

"Emphysema and orthostatic hypotension. Sounds like a real kick ass time to me."

There was a definite trace of sarcasm in Kade's voice. Not that he made any attempt to hide it at any rate. Jeff locked eyes with Kade, not appreciating the tone. "You did know these drugs have serious side effects, I'm assuming? And that's when they're taken by themselves. God knows how long you've been putting that crap in your body, along with the alcohol abuse. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a death wish."

Jeff grunted with indignance. Struggling to get to his knees, he kept his back firmly pointed in Kade's direction. Whether he was aware that or not that Kade's last statement was a leading one, he wasn't intent on answering it. "I didn't ask for a chemistry lesson. And you're so high and might that it bothers you that much, you know where the door is." The click in Jeff's bones was audible as he struggled to stand to his full height. "You ain't welcome here anyway..."

"If only I could acquiesce your less than gracious suggestion," Kade's smile was positively dripping with sarcasm. Resting his weight on his life leg, his arms folded neatly across his chest. "Unfortunately, you're stuck with me whether you want me to be here or not."

"Then let me help you out with that kid." Jeff heard the irritability in his own voice, and wasn't even in the slightest bothered by it. It was hard enough to be by himself when he felt this rough. The last thing he needed was some sanctimonious little kid preaching at him from a high horse. "You're fired." Jeff grinned darkly, gaining an assured sense of pleasure with his solution to the problem.

"And if it were that simple, all would be right with the world. You could go back to your self-harming delirium and I could stop pretending that I'm not on the verge of projectile vomiting from your odious stench. Things being what they are, I don't work for you Jeffrey. So you can't fire me. Much as I'm sure in pains you to hear it."

"What are you talking about? You just said that you're my assistant. What kind of assistant are you if you don't do what I want you to do. I don't want you. I just fired you. Where is the problem here? Fuck off already." A tight grimace settled over Jeff's lips as he managed to pull himself up onto the bed, giving up on standing under his own power. Slumping forward, his face became drowned in a sea of stale smelling sheets.

"Did you miss the part where I said you're not the one signing my pay checks? Or were you too doped up to understand such a simple sentence?" Jeff's jade eyes gave a deadly flicker at Kade's impertinence. "Trust me Jeffrey, I wish I had better things to do with my time than baby-sit a childish coke whore who seems to think the world owes him." Jeff was left in a stunned silence. Or was it that he actually _was_ to doped up to care? He honestly couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Not that it mattered, as Kade wasn't quite finished. "If it were up to me, you would have been in the unemployment line long before you got to this level. Hell, I would have shopped your sorry ass to the cops and be done with it. But luckily for you, it isn't. Someone actually does give a shit about what happens to you. Although I've been hired as your assistant, you're not my boss, so don't assume you can tell me what to do. Do as I say, when I tell you to do it, and we'll get along just fine."

"No, it's not okay. Would you just leave me alone already?" Jeff mumbled into the sheets, refusing to lift his face to meet Kade's aggravated gaze. A though suddenly occurred to him, filling him with a sense of righteous anger. "How the hell did you get into my hotel room anyway? Are they just giving the keys away to any psychotic blonde who asks for them?"

With an audible groan, Kade's palm slapped against his forehead with frustration. Despite his profession, it was beyond him how a person could let themselves get this far. "You're not in your hotel room you dolt." With a confused grunt, Jeff's face emerged from the tangle of sheets. "Reality check Jeffrey. You're in rehab."

Jeff's face fell as he finally took the time to take in the room around him. He had concentrated so hard on finding somewhere to throw up, not to mention fending off Kade that he hadn't even noticed that this wasn't his hotel room. "I'm where?"

"You're in rehab." The word oozed over Kade's lips in a condescending wave. He was enjoying this far too much. "I'm guessing you don't remember last night, do you?" Jeff's features remained blank as he tried to piece together what had happened to him last night. "Well, that's what the hard stuff will do to you. Allow me to bring you up to speed. You were found passed out in a bathroom stall. When someone did actually find you, you got real abusive and gave the poor cleaning girl a black eye."

For the first time since they met one another, Jeff showed actual remorse. Had he really done what Kade had said? Had he turned into some kind of monster? Worse things, it seemed, were to come. "Oh it gets better. After assaulting some poor girl, you jumped in your car and ran it head first into a tree. Thank god you weren't going at any kind of real speed or you'd be in the great rehab centre in the sky right now."

Jeff's head shook from side to side, sending a fresh wave of nausea through his stomach. It came from the sudden movement, or the guilt. It didn't matter. "I don't remember…"

"Why am I not surprised." Kade sighed heavily. "Your brother checked you in a little after midnight. You're on a provisional six week programme. And in case you're wondering, it's not voluntary. You're here under the grace of the Carolina Judicial system and until _I _say you're fit enough to leave. Be thankful you have powerful friends. And even with a billionaire backer, you could be looking at some jail time."

Kade's face suddenly became altogether more serious, ignoring the look of desperation buried deep in the green pools of Jeff's eyes. "Play ball Jeff, and we'll get along fine. You'll be detoxed, and I will help you beat your demons once and for all. If you don't do as I say, or try and go on the run from the centre, I'm going to report you back for being the addict you are. My guess is your bosses will fire you in a heartbeat, if they haven't already. Your future career rests on my recommendations. And between you and me? Right now I think without me, you're going to _swanton_ your way into and early grave."

Kade sighed, rubbing his hands back through his hair. "In case you missed the memo here, it makes no difference to me Jeffrey whether you get fired or not. All I care about is stopping you from killing yourself. And believe me I will do whatever is necessary to make sure you stay clean. We don't have to like one another to get that done. You'll probably end up hating me, but I'm actually fine with that so long as I stop you from using. So quit staring at me and go take a shower because you absolutely stink. And be in the lobby for nine o'clock. Orientation begins at nine-thirty and I have no intention of being late."

Kade cast one final glance back at Jeff before exiting the room the same way he had come in. Pulling the door to a close behind him, he took a few steps down the hallway. The impressive figure of Vincent Kennedy McMahon stood just a few metres down the hall. His hands rested inside the pockets of his inordinately expensive suit. His eyes focused on the smaller form of Kade as he approached. Extending his hand, he shook Kade's in a firm grip.

"Doctor Schaeffer-Hamilton," Vince began, "thank you so much for agreeing to come and see Jeff. I know how busy you are."

"To be honest with you Mr. McMahon, I doubt a lot of people would say no to the amount of money you offered." Kade wished he could say he agreed to evaluate Jeff purely for the love of his profession. However it was a lie. If Vince hadn't have pulled out his check-book, he probably wouldn't have agreed to coming down at all.

As one of the leading experts in the psychology field, Kade was sort after on a multitude of cases. He had long since stopped taking cases for the desire to help people. He was a professional, and would work on loan for whoever it was that offered the most money. It might be a cynical way of doing things, but Kade was a human like everyone else.

"It's not good is it?" Vince already seemed to have his mind made up when it came to Jeff. He'd taken the chance on rehiring him after the last fiasco involving his drug habit. Now, it seemed he'd fallen even further than he had been before. Being the consummate businessman, Vince realised that Jeff Hardy was no longer a sound business investment. "It's a shame. I had high hopes this time around for Jeff. His brother will take it hard, but for the good of the company, I'm going to have to let him go…"

"Mr. McMahon," Kade interrupted, "I don't think firing Jeff at this point would be in his best interests or yours." Vince's eyebrow arched on his forehead. "To be honest with you sir, based on my preliminary findings and a conversation with his brother, I feel that Jeff is in a very delicate place right now. By the sounds of things, it's like something has shattered who he sees himself to be, and he's had a hell of a time piecing himself back together. I think if you were to release him now, we're going to lose him entirely. I would ask that you keep him on your roster until he's completed the course here. After that, do what you will."

Vince looked unconvinced. Psychology aside, Kade knew it would be necessary to sweeten the deal. Vince was a businessman after all. He couldn't really do something for nothing now could he? "As consolation, I am prepared to work exclusively with Mr. Hardy, in a more hands on role and help him through this difficult stage. I'll even suspend my fee for the duration of his treatment."

Kade had said the magic words. Offering his hand, Vince accepted it in another firm handshake. That was the way deals were done in the professional wrestling world. A handshake and a nod, and you were bound to your word. "Very well Doctor. I'll move him to the inactive roster and let you do your magic. But if he puts one foot out of line with you, I want to be informed immediately." Kade nodded briefly, not liking the underlying menace that Vince's statement held. "If you don't mind me asking Doctor, how is it that you're such an expert at such a young age? You look younger than my own children."

Kade smiled at the question he heard everyday of his professional life. "I'm twenty-five years old Mr. McMahon, and something a psychology-prodigy. Both my parents are psychologists, and I have an aptitude for the science. I assure you, I am fully qualified to treat Jeff to an exemplary standard."

"Oh I don't doubt it Doctor." With a slight incline of his head, Vince began to move away from Kade. A sure sign that the conversation was over, Kade moved to head towards the staff's office in order to see what it was to work with. Vince's parting words caught him by surprise. "Keep me informed Doctor. Jeff is one of the family. I'm placing you responsible for his safe and healthy return to us."

Kade nodded at the retreating Mr. McMahon, who disappeared around the corner. _No pressure then. _But it was true. Jeff was not Kade's responsibility. Despite his harsh tone to Jeff earlier, it was up to him to make sure that Vince's faith turned out to be justified.

After all, it was obvious to Kade that if Jeff's boss would make the effort to be here, then he obviously meant something to the company. If Vince could let his personal judgement override that of his business mindset, then Kade could certainly prove that Jeff was worth it. Now the arduous task would begin of not only healing Jeff emotionally, but getting him off drugs he was fatally hooked on. Judging by the aftermath of whatever Jeff had put himself through last night, this was clearly wasn't his first time coming down from a high. If that were true, this was going to be incredibly hard on Jeff. Kade hoped that the southener had the inner strength to over come it. After all, he could only support him so much. The core of this would be down to Jeff.

Even if Jeff did have reserves of strength, it had been a long time since Kade had worked that intensively with a patient. Part of him wasn't so sure he could actually do it again.

But there something about Jeff drew him in, that caused him to offer his professional services. There was a sadness in those eyes that seemed to stretch to impossible fathoms. It was like nothing Kade had ever seen before. As a result, it captivated him, both professionally and personally. What could have happened to drive Jeff to the depths he was stuck in? If Kade was going to achieve anything during this course, it was to make sure he found out exactly what caused that sadness.

And more importantly, it was to heal Jeff of it once and for all.


	3. Live To Tell

**_A/N: _Update time, a new chapter for your reading enjoyment. As always, big apologies for the time its taken to get this story updated. I hope this one will be worth the wait.**

**Big shout out and thank you to the Princess of all FanFiction, Shannygoat herself. She took this chapter in a half-finished and disorganised state, and turned it into a piece of greatness. I honestly cannot thank this woman enough for agreeing to take this on. So thank you Shanny. You totally rock.**

**As ever, please R&R!**

* * *

_**Live To Tell**_

_"I have a tale to tell. Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well. I was not ready for the fall, too blind to see the writing on the wall."_

The sun setting in the distance bathed the sky in blood red waves. Broken in places by the final wisps of cloud, the heavens seemed to weigh heavily down on Ashley Massaro. Her feet scurried quickly across the pavement that was deserted, despite the early hour of the evening. The initial stirrings of a breeze played with her long, black, woollen jacket - pulling at the unfastened sides. Hugging her arms across her chest, she tried to wrap herself in the protection of her jacket. Try as she might, nothing could keep away the chill crawling beneath her skin.

Her unwashed blonde hair poked in random tufts from beneath her hood, her grey eyes staring suspiciously from beneath it. Heading across the street, she stopped outside the towering church. It wasn't often you found old-world churches in towns anymore, especially ones with such intricately painted stain glass windows. Stone spires thrusted into the early evening sky as darkened spikes stretching for the heavens, more than ready to bring its wrath back down it. Pretending she wasn't as unnerved as she felt, Ashley slipped between a crack in the wrought iron gates and into the courtyard.

Taking the faded stone steps up to the arch of the stained brown door, she hesitated. What right did she have to be here? Did she really think enough of herself to seek forgiveness from the holiest of places? Was she actually kidding herself into thinking she would receive some kind salvation for her actions? After everything she has done? Her presence here was nothing but a stain, one which marred the serenity inside. And yet, despite her misgivings Ashley was unable to tear herself away.

It wasn't like it mattered anymore. None of it did. All Ashley could do was try. Resting the flat of her palms against the door, she pushed gently. Relief flooded through her as the door creaked open. The church was dark, the last remaining light of the day filtering through the high arching windows. The blood red sky was diluted by the stained glass through which it poured, casting a myriad of colours across the darkened stone floor. Equally as the light took on an eerie glow, the shadows seemed to be malformed, having an almost animated quality as they silently crept across the floor.

Sliding through the door, Ashley let it swing to a close behind her, taking solace from the solid feeling of the wood behind her. The church was empty.

The roof was a high arc above her, seeming to looms miles above out of reach. Ashley could make out the intricate carvings of the arches as they spread from the walls and over the ceilings to support its weight.

And as much as the ceiling towered above her, the cobbled stone floor stretched out in front of Ashley. She followed it for what seemed like miles until she saw the crucifix hanging high on the far wall. Seemingly unable to meet the eyes of the sculpture, Ashley dropped her gaze to the floor once more. An old, worn red carpet cut out in front of her, leading the way to the alter. On either side, row upon row of low wooden benches sat mutely. A mixture of worn, tattered and brand new bibles were tucked into the seat pockets in front of the seats, the leather covers visible from inside the blue pouches. A few of the pockets were empty, and Ashley found herself wondering what had happened to the bibles that originally occupied them.

Not even sure why the though occurred to her, Ashley quickly stepped forward onto the carpet. The silence in the church was deafening, causing a vacuum that threatened to take Ashley whole as she became lost in a sea of concrete. She would have given anything to hear some kind of noise, some flicker of a human presence to fill the aching emptiness before her, but there was none.

Taking a few more cautious steps, she became aware of the faces in the window. Gasping back her own breath, the benevolent faces of the past Saints and other religious figures stared back at her. It was like they were accusing her on a silent crime, her presence unwelcome here. Ignoring the painted eyes are they followed her, Ashley tucked her head down so much so her chin rested against her chest. Her arms again found their way around her body, acting as a shield to her surroundings.

It was like being caught in one of those dreams, where no matter how far you ran you never got any closer to what was right in front of you. Nor could you escape what was chasing you. Somehow Ashley knew the normal rules of dream chases would not apply to her. Whatever it was that had followed her since she left her apartment was going to catch up to her sooner or later. The eerie sense that you were being stalked, that someone in the shadows was playing with you - bringing you to the brink of blind panic and withdrawing again. It was only a matter of time before whatever was preying on Ashley would catch her.

Her last hope was the sanctity of this church. She must have passed it a dozen times in as many days since arriving at the city. Each time, she had brought herself just that little bit closer to heading inside. Tonight was the first time she'd had the courage of her convictions to come inside. Ashley had hoped in vein it seemed that everything she had been running from would be left outside. That inside this church, she would know some kind of peace.

If anything, these greying stone walls had the opposite effect. It magnified every last ounce of self doubt and loathing, not to mention the guilt she had been carrying with her. They weighed heavily on her body and soul, but Ashley renounced them. She feared that if she allowed herself to comprehend the full range of repercussions that had resulted from her actions, she would loose herself.

Ashley stumbled, concentrating on her pain more than where she was going. Just catching herself before she toppled to the floor, Ashley placed her hand against her heart pounding in her chest. She had reached the front of the church, and the crucifix loomed towards her against the wall. Veering uncontrollably to the left, Ashley could not catch herself this time as she desperately wanted to be beyond it's gaze. A strangled cry escaped her lips as her side connected with the stone floor. Her hood feel free of her head, spilling her blonde locks around her head. Warm tears fell down over her cheeks, her body sobbing silently. She felt broken, unable to even lift herself from the floor.

Looking up at the crucifix again, she noticed the eyes of its occupant piercing straight thorough her. No matter the angle at which her head moved those eyes, compassionate, concentrated, forgiving, still gazed at her intensely. And what was the most remarkable was that those dark painted orbs still shown on her with care and sympathy although they were marked by fatigue and their own pain.

How was that possible? The lack of malice and judgment on His face was enough to make her heart ache. She had been an active participant in the destruction of four lives, including her own. She played an intricate role in making sure that two people never found their happiness, resulting in an additional two, feeling only pain. Yet the man stretched out on the wooden cross seemed to have seen through that. His face offered her comfort.

His forgiveness only increased her pain.

Ashley's head turned to the left at the sight of warm light twinkling in the corner. Rising to her feet, she straightened herself out and dusted off. That moment of self pity, that feeling of loathing was forced back down insider herself as she ran her hand over her tears. Although Ashley knew that she was alone - she needed to be in fact, the sight of another person and the gentle sparkle of the candles seemed to draw her in the direction that a man stood regardless.

Taking slow steps, as if she were in intruder in this house of forgiveness, Ashley's slender body strolled over to the Pricket Stand, a table holding dozens candles, much like the one of the other side of the church. She remembered this as a child. Blue candles for St. Joseph's side of the church, red for the Holy Mother. A sense of warmth spread over her at the distant memory of her grandmother explaining that the blue candles were for the male Saints, while the red were for the women. She didn't know how much truth was in that, Grams often had her own explanations for things, but even that knowledge made her feel like less of a heathen.

As more candles were lit the frame of a small man came into view. He was dressed in black, from head to toe, and the patterns of light danced softly on his balding head. His hair, what was left of it, framed his head like a halo. Neatly tapered grey locks neither touched his ears nor his collar. "They don't light themselves." His soft voice spoke volumes to Ashley, though he never turned around to face her.

Standing in front of the huge statue of the Holy Mother, Ashley looked up and studied the figure, paying particular attention to the small infant she held in her arms. Those eyes were the same. They still looked at her as if to tell her that everything, in time, would be alright. The mere sight of them forced her to turn her head away.

She watched the man in black light several more candles, his lips moving silently when each flame touched the wick. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. She felt like she needed to know how he did it… where his faith came from. Surely he had never done anything in his life to warrant what she was feeling. If he had, he wouldn't be able to offer prayers to Saints with such ease.

Turning fully to face her, his white collar came into view. The priest held the wooden plank out to her, the flames illuminating his strikingly blue eyes. _His eyes….they were like John__'__s_. "No thank you." She had no right to light a candle. Who would listen to her prayers? Her soul hadn't rested since she had lied to John. It had grown increasingly fidgety since she had noticed the dull twinkle in Morgan's when he appeared on Good Morning America. Ashley's soul was disrupted when she finally locked eyes on Jeff's watery, reddened, and dilated green ones. Lighting a fucking candle wasn't going to change that.

Blowing out the stick in a quick breath the priest stood next to her in silence. "You know, sometimes when we refuse to kneel before Him, he has a way of pushing us to our knees." He rested a wrinkled, liver spotted hand upon Ashley's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. Then without words, he rounded her and made his way to the first pew and took a seat.

Was he waiting for her? It had been years since she had been to a church and she couldn't remember what Grams had said about Confession. Wasn't there supposed to be a box, like phone a phone booth or something? On the television shows they all went to confessionals and the priest slid open a little door. She wasn't pouring her hear out to this man, not in the presence of that baby and that cross. They weren't hearing what weighed on her heart. If they heard it, they would never forgive her, not that she needed to be forgiven for anything. She hadn't done anything wrong.

Yet there was something that made her feet move toward the old man. She didn't question when he scooted over and she took a seat beside him. That part was over, now she sat there silent, hoping that she wouldn't have to open her mouth. She glanced in his direction and noticed how his eyes were transfixed on the crucifix hanging above the alter. He had his hands folded neatly in his lap and a look of complete calm and trust on his aged face. "He listens, you know. Even if you don't want to talk to me, tell Him. He can help you."

"He can't help me." She scoffed, feeling the warmth of her tears prick her eyes again. How did get this way? She was hurt, she lashed out, she tried to protect what she thought was rightfully hers. And somehow everything fell apart. "There's nothing wrong."

"There's something wrong with all of us." The priest rested his back against the bench and sighed. He blinked slowly and calmly continuing to stare into the eyes in front of him. "When I was younger I thought I could change the world. Now, I only hope to change people's hearts."

A surge of anger swept through Ashley and she felt herself cringe. "Change my heart? How about fixing it? It's broken. Can you do that? Can _He_?" Why was she so angry still? Why couldn't she let it go? How dare they let her harbour all of the guilt on their own? They had all moved on in their own ways, getting on with their own lives. Yet, she was stuck feeling like everything was falling apart. Why weren't _they_ still grieving?

"All you have to do is ask Him."

Her laughter filled the church but she stopped to catch the tears that had slowly started to creep out of her eyes. "How do I tell Him that my fiancé left me for a man? Doesn't _your_ book say something about that? Or how 'bout this? The man's fiancé and I stopped them from being together. We did what was right. They didn't belong together." The tears started to flow freer and her voice cracked with each word she muttered. "Morgan should've just married Jeff and left John and I alone. Jeff was perfect for him. He loved him. Why did he have to want what was mine? John and I would have been happy. We had our problems, but we would've worked it out. He…he asked me to be his wife once..."

The sound of the bench creaking as the old priest leaned to his side to untie his rosary, made Ashley close her eyes. Even he didn't get it. The story was too twisted, he couldn't possibly understand. She didn't know if recounting what had happened was worse than him dismissing it to play with his necklace.

But there was something cathartic in letting it out. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone since everything happened. And even if he wasn't listening, she found that once she started talking, she couldn't stop. She didn't want to. "I lied to them. I told John he wasn't coming, that he had up made with Jeff." Her voice grew more distance as relived her part in the destruction of everything. "I took the ring he had for Morgan and I put it in my purse. I watched him walk away…God, his eyes were so blue." She licked at the tears rolling down her face and huffed out a breath before continuing. "I told Morgan that John didn't want him. I told him it was better to just make a clean break. I did what was best for everyone. And it was so easy." Letting a sad smile cross her lips, Ashley closed her eyes at the memory. "You should've seen the look on his face. I thought I would feel better knowing he was hurting…"

"But vengeance isn't yours." A calm voice sounded through her tears, forcing Ashley's anger to rise again.

"Then whose is it? _Him? _He was taking too long. I had to do what needed to be done. They wouldn't have lasted. I had to stop it from happening - to save John from himself. John belonged with me. I loved him. _We_ were supposed to be together! Not them!"

Nodding his head in calm understanding, the priest placed a hand on Ashley's. "But did he love you?"

That hurt. Not because of what he said, but because it was the truth. "He would've learned to love me again. He just thought he loved Morgan. Morgan needed to be gone so we could work out our problems. John was going to love me the way that he used to." And why wouldn't John want her? She was beautiful, fun, she knew him better than he did himself. They had a history. He just needed to remember that.

"And now?"

She didn't want to talk about now. Now everything was fucked up. "He barely talks to anyone. John's so angry now. He walks around in this daze. I don't even recognize him. And Jeff…he's such a good guy. But he's so messed up; I doubt he even knows where he is most of the time."

"What about Morgan?"

Ashley turned cold eyes on the priest and her lips curled into a snarl. "Who gives a shit about Morgan? This is his fault. If he didn't try taking everything… Now John's all…and Jeff's... I'm in a church talking to a stranger…If he didn't he use Jeff and tried to steal John, none of this would have happened."

There was a long silence as she gazed upon the man sitting next to her waiting for him to affirm her retelling of the tale. He had to understand that she wasn't at fault, yet she harboured guilt of it all. It wasn't fair. She just needed to put it past her and maybe by him agreeing that she had been right in her actions it would start to get easier.

"God has a plan for everyone…"

"I don't care about God's plan. What about _my_ plans? I was supposed to be married, living out my life with the man that I love. Why wasn't that in _His_ plan?" The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. "You know what? Never mind." Running the back of her sleeve over her teary face, Ashley stood from the pew and started toward the alter. She couldn't make it past those eyes. They followed her everywhere.

The priest never moved but watched the way she stared. He knew what she needed, but getting her to accept it was going to be up to her. "Forgiveness goes a long way. You have to forgive yourself, before you can forgive anyone else."

"I don't need to forgive myself." She said sternly. "I haven't done anything wrong. This is Morgan's fault. All of it. And maybe it's time that _He_," she pointed to the crucifix, "understood that and stops punishing the rest of us."

Not bothering to say anymore, she stood up. Lifting the hood of her coat, Ashley eased it over her head in an attempt to block out the eyes she felt were burning into her more than anything else.

As quickly as she came, she was gone again, scurrying back through the church and out the wooden door. It swung to a loud close, drowning the old man in a sea of echoes. Sighing softly, he mumbled a silent prayer to give the girl strength.

If he had learned anything about forgiveness in his decades as a man of God, he knew she was going to need it.


	4. You'll See

**_A/N:_ An update. Yay!! Okay, so I hope you guys are still with me on this. Hopefully, I should be updating faster now. **

**This chapter is the work of, in my opinion, the greatest writer to be found on FF, Queen of Kaos. As my 'mentor' or sorts, she has been a massive guiding force in this story and the one that came before, Confide In Me. After reading her story 'The Rest Will Follow' I approached her for help, and she came through in massive style with this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy this, and my thanks go to her for stepping in when I needed her.**

**As ever, please read and review. Seriously? You can consider it my Christmas present. I disclaim!**

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**You'll See**

_"All by myself, I don't need anyone at all. I know I'll survive. I know I'll stay alive. All on my own."_

After an hour of staring at the dingy walls of his room, Jeff had gone from irritated to downright livid. He'd heard of the rehab places they sent people in the public eye. Promises. Wonderland. Oasis. Flowery names for detox resorts. Places with bigger pools and more ammenities than counselors. So where had he ended up? It sure as hell wasn't a damn vacation, he knew that much.

This place felt more like a mental ward. It kind of reminded him of the store room in his high school art class, actually. Long and narrow, the beige, tiled walls had obviously been washed past their limits. Remnants of the burn-outs who had gone before him, names and pictures drawn on the walls with sharpies and maybe crayons. His eyes had immediately focused on the bits and pieces of an old poem next to his bed. Something about the prison of the writer's mind, the crawling beneath his skin, and the fear gnawing at his chest. With a huff, Jeff nodded and stood, his hands clasped behind his head.

What was he doing here? Studying the cracking veins of the linoleum floor, he paced the length of the room, hating everyone from Vince to Matt. And that fucker Kade. Who did he think he was? Telling Jeff what to do? He didn't need this, didn't need to be in this place. He didn't need the judgment and interference from people who claimed to care but didn't know shit about him. They didn't know. Nobody knew.

This wasn't a relapse. He wasn't going back to what he had been. He was just going through something. If he chose to numb the ache, what business was it of theirs? It wasn't like he was fucking up his job. If anything, he was hotter than he'd ever been. Who did Vince McMahon think he was? Sticking his nose in where it didn't belong? And Matt. When did 'older brother' turn into 'brother's keeper'? Why couldn't he just try to understand for once?

Balling his fists, his eyes darted around the room, the urge to throw something rising in his chest, ready to explode. But there was nothing to throw. There was a flat pillow on the bed, but it wouldn't make a sound. Wouldn't chip at the hideous walls or shatter against the broken floor. There was no satisfaction in that. No satisfaction in any of the shit decorating this room. The lamp, maybe, but it was bolted to the dresser, which was bolted to the floor. Clearly, he wasn't the only one with a penchant for breaking things.

Laying back on the bed, he stared at the piss-yellow ceiling. Six weeks? Did Kade say he had to be here for six weeks? What the hell was he gonna do? Lay on this fucking bed and think about what he had done? What was he? A child? This was beyond ridiculous. It was fucking pathetic. He had to get out. There had to be a way out. They couldn't really hold him here against his will, could they? It wasn't like it was court-ordered or . . .

That woman. Fuck. It was court-ordered. He'd hurt someone. Or nearly had. And while he doubted anyone could be hurting as much as he was, he couldn't stop the guilt that stabbed at his chest when he thought about what might have happened last night. Not that he could remember anything more than blurry bits and pieces, but deep down, he could still feel remorse for what he had allegedly done. He was still Jeff Hardy, somewhere deep inside. He was still a guy who cared about other people.

_Dammit_, he cursed himself. Squeezing his eyes against the firey pain shooting through his gut, he covered his face with white-knuckled fists and clenched his teeth. If he was truly honest, that was the most irritating thing about the last forty-eight hours. Not that he was holed up in a fucking dirt hole rehab center. Not that bastard Kade. The worst part was that he still cared. That none of the isolation or the drugs or the drinking had changed him. Sure, they numbed him for awhile, but even enough substances to tranq a small horse hadn't been enough to make him stop caring.

"Knock, knock."

The sarcastic cadence of Kadence hit Jeff's ears like a blaring freight train. Did the fucker have to talk so damn loud? There was no carpet, and nothing on the walls. Did he not understand the concept of 'echoing'? _Ignore him_, he told himself, his hands never leaving his face. _Show him he can't break you. He has to let you go if you refuse to talk. If you have to spend six weeks here, you can at least do it by yourself._

"You can ignore me," Kade seemed to read Jeff's mind as he entered the room and stood near the door. The young man on the bed was a mess. Though he was no longer hugging the trash can, his pasty white skin looked pale, nearly transluscent under the flourescent lighting. What was visible beneath the tattoos, anyway. "But seeing as I'm not a salesman or a Jehovah's Witness, I'm not going away any time soon." he added, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Jeff didn't care. He could stand there for the next six weeks. Didn't mean that he was getting a single word from the North Carolinian. If this guy thought he could wait Jeff out, he clearly didn't know anything about Jeff Hardy. Maybe he should call Jeff's beloved older brother. Matt loved to rag on him about the fact that he never spoke. Surely he would have a great story or two about how his younger brother would go on silence strikes as a child to prove a point or get his way. _Never occured to him it was 'cause I coudln't get a damn word in edgewise_, Jeff thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

But rolling eyes hurt, and he found himself groaning in spite of himself. _Shit_, he thought quickly, knowing that Kade would pick up on any sign of life.

And the counselor didn't disappoint. "Get up," he spoke firmly. When he got no response, Kade pushed off the wall and walked to the foot of the bed. With a quick rap to the ankle, he rested his hands against the railing of the footboard. "I don't like to repeat myself, Mr. Hardy. You have your first group meeting in ten minutes, so unless you want me to invite all seven people up here, you're gonna have to walk your ass down the hall."

Group therapy? That was it. Jeff was never, EVER, even thinking the words '_it can't get worse' _as long as he lived. This fool expected him to sit in a room with crackheads and coke addicts? And share his 'story'? Hell, no. Maybe they could force him into this place. Maybe they could keep him here for six weeks. But they could NOT make him sit through 'share' sessions. "No," he found himself saying, though he was fairly sure he hadn't given his lips permission to move.

"I'm sorry," Kade chuckled in the smug, self-assured way that Jeff was growing to loathe. It took a lot to piss Jeff Hardy off, but this guy seemed to have found the key in a very short period of time. "You must have thought I was offering you some sort of option." And then any hint of amusement was gone. "Get your ass outta the bed, Hardy."

Jeff laid stock still until he heard the door slam. _Fine_, he thought, rolling out of the bed slowly. He would go, because he had to. But he wasn't going to like it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to start 'healing.'

* * *

As though carved out of stone, Jeff held a statuesque posture in his chair. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, how long this charade had been going on, but it felt like an eternity. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he fought the urge to tap his foot and scratch the growing itch in his arms. He hated this part, when the crawling sensation began beneath his skin, rushing over his arms and his chest like little worker ants in his system. The only way to stop it was to rake his fingers over the affected area, but that would involve moving and he wasn't giving any of them the satisfaction of seeing him move. 

His eyes drifted over the pamphlets in his lap, the literature they had so happily loaded him up with upon his entry into the room. Not that he acknowledged them, surely didn't thank him. But it didn't seem to matter to any of them. Nobody in the room seemed to care that he didn't want anything to do with them. If anything, they seemed to understand. And that only pissed him off further. What did they know about him? He wasn't like them. He wasn't the guy who regularly woke up in a puddle of his own piss, wondering what had happened the night before. Maybe once or twice, but it wasn't a habit for him. He didn't belong with these people.

At the onset of the meeting, a graying skeleton of a leader, Jim, had explained to him that this was an S.O.S. meeting rather than an N.A. meeting. As though it made a difference to Jeff. Narcotics Anonymous was apparently an offshoot of A.A., and therefore a spirtually-based program. Jim explained that Jeff didn't have to worry about God being forced down his throat. Secular Organization for Sobriety focused on the addicts ability to find strength within himself, but they still followed steps. Steps that Jeff would learn in the literature and find comfort in sharing with others who understood his struggle.

Understanding. That seemed to be the catch-word in this place. Like they would reach some higher plane of comprehension and everything would be okay. Like the clouds would just break, the sunshine would rain down on them, and everyone could join hands and skip into the sober sunset. The only catch was that he didn't want to understand addiction. He didn't need to. Because he wasn't an addict.

If he needed confirmation that this wasn't the place for him, Jeff found it right off the bat. Once he was seated, Jim began the meeting with the first step. "_To break the cycle and achieve sobriety, we first acknowledge that we are alcoholics or addicts_." As far as Jeff was concerned, that was his cue to leave. He wasn't acknowledging shit. Because there was nothing to admit. He didn't have a problem. Unless there was a group for people who meddled too much. That was the biggest problem Jeff had to deal with.

After the group chanted the first step in some creepy, cult-like fashion, a woman stood up from the front row and introduced herself as Alice. She then launched into a story about climbing into the backseat of a Dodge Dart, readying herself to give head for drug money. Apparently, that's when she realized she had a problem. If rolling his eyes hadn't required movement, Jeff would have done it. This was where Vince thought he belonged? In a room full of people who would pimp themselves for drugs? Anger bubbled in his gut once more at the realization that he'd never really been given a second chance. Vince was pissed that he had never publicly acknowledged what the company had accused him of five years ago. He brought Jeff back in the hopes that he would fuck up and they could tell everybody they'd been right.

"_We affirm this truth daily_," Jim began the next step, "_and accept without reservation the fact that, as clean and sober individuals, we cannot and do not drink or use, no matter what_." The symphony of voices that joined Jim made Jeff's head hurt. Truth be told, he'd been suffering through a raging headache for the last few hours, but the fucker at the nurse's stand wouldn't give him asprin. It wasn't like he had asked for Vicodin, though the cracking in his hips every time he took a step wouldn't have minded a pain killer at the moment, either. But he knew better than to ask for the strong stuff. Just an Aleve, maybe a Tylenol.

Step two brought another story from the man who had been sitting directly to Jeff's left. A story about relapsing at his wedding reception. He apparently thought that he could handle a drink, since alcohol had never really been his drug of choice, but it numbed and buzzed him enough to drive a needle into his arm. How that had happened Jeff didn't know, wasn't really paying attention, but he couldn't help wondering why people listened to these stories with such rapt attention. Hell, he hadn't even been that high last night and he still couldn't remember what had happened. How did these fuckers remember with such clarity their darkest moments? As far as Jeff could tell, they were probably all makin' shit up for the sympathy and amazement of their audience.

Clearing his throat and drying an eye after congratulating Sam on regaining his sobriety, Jim launched into the third step. "_Since drinking or using is not an option for us, we take whatever steps are necessary to continue our sobriety_." Tilting his head for the first time since entering the room, Jeff glanced at the picture on the front of the pamphlet. So boring, as though color might send an addict into some sort of trip. He could redesign these covers. At least make them somewhat appealing to anyone under fifty.

When the woman at his right stood up and cleared her throat, Jeff took a moment to avert his eyes. She spoke of staying home and journaling while her friends went out to party. While he could understand the power of expression through poetry and lyrics, he was more intrigued by the faces of the people around the circle. Some people nodded as though they totally understood sacrificing to keep themselves out of the path of temptation, others just adopted this pitying, 'I've been there' look that made Jeff wish he was back in his room, hugging his trash can. None of these people knew each other. How could their compassion be taken as anything other than selfish? They weren't feeling Shirley's pain as she told her story. They were only thinking of their own situations and how they felt in those moments.

Though his brain told him he was being paranoid, Jeff was sure that the walls were starting to slide in on him. The room was smaller, definitely shrinking. Without thought of maintaining his stillness, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders as a chill began to settle in the room. The heater had apparently broken as he felt tiny goosebumps on the skin beneath his fingers. While he couldn't understand how he could be shivering and still taste the sweat forming on his upper lip, Jeff kept his eyes trained on the floor. He knew that they would all be watching him, and the last thing he needed, on top of the panic building in his chest, was those fake-ass puppy-dog eyes turned on him.

"_A quality life can be achieved_," Jim went on as though nothing were going on in the chair across from him. "_However, life is also filled with uncertainties_." For the first time, Jeff agreed with something Jim had said. "_Therefore, we do not drink or use regardless of feelings, circumstances, or conflicts." _Well, he thought he had agreed.

Even as the next person stood to speak, Jeff felt something within his chest explode. Regardless of feelings, circumstances, or conflicts? Hell, those were his only reasons for using at all. If he didn't have such strong feelings for Morgan, he wouldn't have to care. If Morgan hadn't tossed him aside like yesterday's dirty underwear, he wouldn't have to numb the feelings. If shit hadn't completely fallen in on his head, he wouldn't have to use anything at all. He wasn't an addict. If feelings, circumstances, and conflicts hadn't crashed around him, he wouldn't be here. Period.

It was bull shit. Everything about this place, everything about his personal life. Everything was bull shit. And he'd be damned if he was going to sit around and listen to people tell him there was a better way. He'd tried the better way, and it didn't fucking work. The better way had shattered his heart and broken his spirit. As far as he was concerned, the better way was the only reason he was there in the first place.

Without a glance back, he walked as quickly as he could to the door and pushed it open with all of his strength. The clang as it slammed shut barely registered in Jeff's head as he pushed his hair from his face and turned, punching the wall with every ounce of frustration he possessed. The cracking sound came, no doubt, from his knuckles, seeing as the wall didn't flinch.

"That wasn't a smart move, Hardy," the voice sounded behind him. On instinct, Jeff spun on his heels, his broken fingers seeking another target. It was the satisfaction his frustration had been seeking all day. To sink a fist into Kade's self-righteous face would surely make him smile. Surely, that would numb the ache.

But the wirey little fucker bobbed his blonde head. _At least the smile's gone_, Jeff thought as he shook his hand and tried to numb the throbbing heat that had centered in his knuckles. "I'm not goin' back in there," he grunted.

With a shrug, Kade took a step forward and lifted Jeff's injured hand. Completely ignoring the wounded animal-like growl that came from the other man, Kade examined the cracked skin. "Feel better?" His eyes darted to Jeff's face, his voice softening slightly. While he had little patience for the childish tantrums Jeff had been throwing, Kade couldn't deny there was something vulnerable about the broken man sucking his shallow breath through his teeth. Maybe the guy he'd been reading about, the one who was down to earth and loving to his fans, was still in there somewhere.

And as quickly as the humanness surfaced, it was gone. Tearing his hand away, Jeff ran his tongue over the bleeding knuckles and glared at the man before him. "I'm not going back in there," he insisted. He hadn't been thinking, going to that meeting in the first place, but he knew that he wasn't doing it again. "Jim said you can't start healing until you admit you have a problem." Kade tilted his head to the side, but Jeff didn't care what he was thinking. "This is a waste of time, cause I ain't admittin' shit," he spat, bumping the smaller man with his shoulder as he stalked back to his room.

Watching Jeff walk away, Kade shook his head. Jeff Hardy thought he was a hard ass, that he was going to show the system. He thought that he didn't have a problem, that his drug use was a result of the break up he'd suffered with Morgan Lee. Jeff Hardy wasn't close to the worst case Kade have ever seen, but he did come with one of the highest price tags. If he had to resort to drastic measures to make the wrestler see the truth, he wouldn't bat an eye.

Making his way to the nurse's room at the end of the hall, Kade pushed through the door and smiled at the young woman sorting through pill bottles. "Hey, Kristy, can you do me a favor?" She nodded. "I think Jeff Hardy just broke his hand. I'm going to call the doctor, but I need you to promise that he's not going to get any pain killers. No matter how badly he begs for them."

Licking her lips, Kristy pushed her dark hair behind her ears and nodded. "That's kind of inhumane," she warned him.

Kade just nodded. It wasn't fair. But neither was the toll that Jeff Hardy's self-medication had taken on the people around him.

"He'll get over it."

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**_A/N: _I hope you enjoyed this. Please go check out 'The Rest Will Follow' for the Queen at her best.**


	5. One More Chance

_**A/N:**_** An update for your reading pleasure. Apologies for taking so long with this, I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who has been in contact over the months asking what's happening with this story, I hope you enjoy it.**

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_**One More Chance**_

"_Here is the lesson I've learned. That you don't know what you've got until it's gone."_

"…_and now onto Show Business news. Gay British pop singer Morgan Lee has caused yet more uproar as his second studio album entitled 'Something to Remember' has debuted at the top of the album charts. The record has sold almost two million copies in its first week alone, outselling the rest of the top ten albums combined. The lead single 'Black and Gold' achieved a similar feat several weeks ago when it hit the number one spot based on airplay and download sales alone. It has remained in pole position for four straight weeks and looks unlikely to be toppled despite heavy competition this week from other established stars. _

_The singer, currently preparing to open the North American leg of his new world tour in New York next week, has been quoted as feeling 'ecstatic and truly humbled' at this chart performance. Already under a fierce storm of criticism due to his refusal to apologise for his Grammy performance last week, supporters of the singer have called his latest chart success clear vindication. Whilst refusing to give any comment on the situation, Mr. Lee has gone on the record to say that at the end of his current contract, he will be leaving 'Sweet Baby Girl Entertainment' and moving to Indiana based label 'Kaos Records' due to 'artistic differences'. It is believed that the record label no longer supports the singer…"_

Disturbed from his concentration, John Cena glanced up from his tray into the already heaving canteen. The majority of the fold down plastic blue tables were filled with superstars, production staff and crew enjoying their lunch break from setting up for the next 'Saturday's Night's Main Event'.

His blue eyes darkened as, despite his hearing being obscured by headphones, the room had fallen momentarily silent because he had entered. It was the same wherever he went these days; staff meetings, public relations events and even the locker room. Everyone was always shocked and surprised to see him in public, holding his head high as though he had no right to do anything of the sort.

His actions at Jeff Hardy's engagement party months ago had not been forgotten by his colleagues. News of his affair with Morgan had spread through the company like wildfire, and he was now the constant source of gossip. Most of his colleagues avoided speaking to him; to the point where certain superstars even refused to wrestle him out of fear of what he may try and do to them. No would make contact in the corridors, to say nothing about being invited out for a post-event drink. He had been forced into the role of a loner, despite having no desire to be anything like it.

Despite the coldness he encountered from those he had considered friends, John marvelled at how everyone felt more than comfortable to discuss both while he was present and more commonly when he wasn't. He wasn't good enough to talk to, but everyone felt more than obliged to discuss him in their little groups, more often than not venting their disgust.

The reaction had always puzzled John. Everyone had accepted Jeff Hardy to varying degrees for being with other men, but Cena was somehow another story. He supposed it was because he had been the poster boy for the company, the All-American hero that kids looked up to. In their eyes, he wondered what he must have looked like to be illicitly seeing another man? He hadn't realised loving another man and being a hero were apparently mutually exclusive until recently.

Many had predicted the termination of his employment, but it had yet to happen for whatever reason. The management team had done all that they could to suppress the news of his apparent 'turn' to homosexuality, although it was now out in the open in the industry and wasn't about to be forgotten.

If he'd had the strength too, John would have fought the rumour and spiteful gossip. No matter what anyone said, he was no more gay now than he had been eighteen months ago. Being with Morgan had taught him that love was blind when it came to gender, and that you loved a person and not a generic set of anatomical features. And even as he sough solace in the backstreet gay bars in the cities that the company visited, it was simply frustrated heartbreak fuelling his behaviour. He missed Morgan more than he thought he could miss anyone or thing, and the act of being with other men was a vein attempt to try and recapture some of the passion and tenderness he had briefly felt with the other man.

Of course no-one was interested in any of that. He was branded a _fag_ and had all the shame and scorn that went with it. Even now, he could imagine what Adam Copeland and his cohorts were saying about him as they sneered at his presence from across the room. '_Get your ass against the walls guys, Cena's here.'_

Increasing the grip on the tray, Cena trudged through the hall, heading for an empty table against the far corner near the window. Pretending he couldn't see the stares and whispers around him, he couldn't help but falter as he spotted Ashley looking pointedly in his direction. They'd been engaged at one point, although he struggled to remember why he fallen for her in the first place. He reasoned that he must have, considering they'd gotten as far as planning the wedding before she'd been unfaithful. Since then, she tried in varying ways to get him back, although he wasn't interested. Even if he hadn't met Morgan, John couldn't ever see himself with her ever again. He'd moved on, and whilst it hurt him that she couldn't do the same, he was resolute to keep as much space between them as possible, even if it cost him a potential friend.

Ignoring her obvious wave for him to join her, John focused on the news being pumped into his ears and continued to walk across the room.

"…_with the Church commenting he was setting an immoral and sinful example for impressionable young minds. Several Christian officials have condemned the media for 'glamorising homosexuality' and continue to petition for a boycott of the singer's records and performances. Mr. Lee courted the controversy earlier in the year when the Pope requested a private audience with him to discuss his life choices and help him rejoin the path of the Lord. The singer responded by saying that if the Pope wished to see him, then he was obliged to purchase a ticket for one of his Italian concerts and would do his best to 'look out for him in the crowd', suggesting he wouldn't be the only man present 'wearing a dress'. _

_Mr. Lee has said he plans to go ahead with his visit Italy in the summer with his world tour, regardless of the public outcry and condemnation from the Vatican. It remains to be seen whether or not Mr. Lee can repeat the success he has had in the rest of Europe here, as it is the first time he has toured extensively in the U.S. _

_Coming up, we have an exclusive play of Morgan's next single 'Makes Me Wonder' and we have psychologist Doctor Miles Clarkson here to discuss Mr. Lee's actions as of late…"_

Reaching into his pocket, John pushed a button on his cell phone to switch off the radio function. Pulling it out, he placed it on the table in front if him, as though considering it. The only contact he had with Morgan now came from news bulletins and online gossip. He had no way on contacting him, and deep down wasn't sure whether it was the right thing for him to do anyway. Morgan had obviously made it clear by keeping his distance and not following him that day at the airport that it was over between them. He had to accept that whatever it was they had was now over, however much John wanted otherwise. Somehow, he knew he had to learn how to live with what had happened, although he honestly wasn't sure how.

Pulling the headphones out of his ears, Cena almost jumped out of his seat in surprise as another tray clattered onto the table in front of him. Glancing up, he smiled as a sullen faced Randy Orton dropped himself into the seat opposite him, slamming his elbows on the table to so he could rest his head in his hands.

"She fuckin' dumped me." He growled, curling his upper lip as his crystal eyes narrowed.

"You and Trish fighting again?" As he posed the question, John was already confident of the answer. Randy and Trish had the most volatile relationship of any two people he'd ever seen in his life. If they weren't screwing each other's brains out, they were having very public screaming matches. The very fact they stayed together was a testament to true love, but then the pair were plain miserable when they broke up. It was easier for everyone when they fucked and made up.

"I can't believe she dumped me." Randy's expression was a cocktail of disbelief and incredulity. "When we were buying vibrators and everything!"

Cringing, John wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore. "You guys will sort it out. You always do. And then you'll go have the screaming, obnoxious make-up sex you're famous for."

"I don't think so. She was really serious this time. She got all quiet and fierce instead of loud and screeching." Randy shook his head, his eyes awash with confusion. He may be dense, but he certainly knew when his girlfriend's reactions were different. "What am I gonna do without her, man? I can't be without her."

John arched and eyebrow as Randy sank his head into his hands. "Randy, seriously dude. You guys break up every other week. What happened?"

"We were buying dildos and I said I wanted to get this curved pink one to stick up her ass while I ate her -…"

"Please skip ahead." John interrupted, not wanting to be privy to the sex life of his friends.

"She just got all quiet and said I was inconsiderate and narrow minded. That I just use her for her body and was just gonna keep her stringing along for the rest of her life and never make her and honest woman. Like she could ever be an honest woman. I mean please, I know what she can do with her mouth and it would make a Saint swear."

Taking a thoughtful pause, Randy licked his lips before continuing, his voice low and serious. "I never said I didn't want the whole wife and kids' thing, just not now." Rubbing the back of his neck, Randy sighed irritably. "How the hell can I be inconsiderate or narrow minded anyway? I'm friends with you aren't I? There ain't many guys who would stick by you with all your gay shit, but I'm still here."

"Thanks man." John replied, biting back a vicious retort boiling on the tip of his tongue. "So you guys fought about marriage and kids?"

"I guess so. She brought it up the other day and I said I wasn't ready yet, that I wanted more time of just being us. Why is she getting so worried about that now anyway? We said we were gonna wait a couple of years."

"And when did you agree that?"

"A couple of years ago," Randy admitted, "but still we're both young. What's the rush? Why can't she just enjoy me for my body for a couple more years before we get all serious about family and shit? I'm still going to be all systems go when we get there."

"Maybe because a couple more years and she'll be pushing forty and her systems won't be working as well. She's older than you Randy. Think about it man. She might hear that clock ticking women always bitch about. Like they've got babies on countdown or something."

"Huh." Randy muttered, obviously not considering that point before. He always viewed Trish as the same age. She certainly didn't look older, and he knew first hand how youthful her body was. However his friend may have had a point that he hadn't considered. "So you think if I propose and get a kid in her, she'll stay with me?"

Wincing at the blunt description, John shrugged. "Hell if I know Randall. But I do know enough to know you're not supposed to do any of that stuff unless you mean it. Unless your name is Dave Batista, in which case wed, fuck and be merry."

Randy smirked conspiratorially at that. "Not sure if I want a dozen kids running around from different mothers."

"Assuming you don't already have some of course." John interceded, shoving his friend playfully.

"Don't even joke man. I have nightmares about shit like that. Before Trish and I got serious, I started wearing two rubbers with girls. You can't be too careful." Randy nodded solemnly, causing Cena to chuckle. His mouth curving into a lop sided grin, Randy considered how he was going to get Trish back. He knew he was friends with Cena for a reason.

"And what's happening with you man?" Orton said finally, changing the subject to one he knew John didn't want to talk about. Since he and Morgan had split, he'd become more introverted that normal and tended to bite the head off of anyone who broached the subject of his love life. "Had your dick cut off yet? There aren't many guys who could pull off the dickless look, but you…"

"Shut up Randy." John said, a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.

"Hey, will you let me feel your tits when you get 'em done?" Randy grinned as dodged John's hand as he moved to slap him on the head. "Did you hear about Hardy? Totally got his ass landed in rehab."

"What?"

"Yeah, apparently he got all coked up, beat the crap outta some nurse and wrapped his car around a tree. He was hurt, but the car was totalled. Vince totally popped a vein over it and was gonna fire him. I think maybe Matt convinced the old timer to go easy, so Vince slapped him in rehab. Couldn't have happened sooner if you ask me. That dude has seriously lost it." Snatching a fry off John's plate, Randy chewed it thoughtfully as John shifted uncomfortable in his seat.

He'd heard Jeff had gone off the rails again, but not to such an extend. And he knew that he was partly to blame. Not only had he ruined the other man's engagement, but he almost succeeded in taking Morgan away from him. And if anyone could appreciate how much it hurt to be parted from the singer, John could. He could understand how tempting drugs must have seemed to Jeff, although his own source of numbness came from random bed partners rather than narcotics.

"You think I should go talk to him," John asked. "I mean I can relate to what he's going through."

Randy stared wide eyed at Cena. "Have you totally gone nuts? Hardy would rip your ugly head off your shoulders if you went near him. Dude, you stole his woman, or man even. He'd probably pound you as soon as look at you."

"Maybe." John signed. He doubted he was anyone Jeff wanted to see, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the guilt of ruining Jeff.

"And speaking of he who shall not be named," Randy continued hesitantly," you spoken to the kid yet?"

John shook his head mutely. "Oh come on John. How long are you going to let this go on for? Just call the kid up and apologise and sort this out. I'm sick to death of seeing your pasty ass mope around cos you ain't getting any Morgan lovin'."

John narrowed his eyes, and Randy immediately knew he'd not only touched a nerve, he'd taken a power tool to it. "All I'm saying is that time has passed now. You've both had time to reflect and shit. Maybe it's the right time to -…"

"It will never be the right time," John snapped, glaring across the table at his friend. "Morgan doesn't want to be with me. It's over between us and I'm over him." Randy made a face knowing his friend was lying. "Look, whatever Randy okay? Just let me deal with my shit in my own way. And anyway, you're the last person who should be giving relationship advice anyway."

"Okay, okay," Randy soothed, "simmer down big man. I was just saying…"

"Yeah well don't." Getting up out of his seat, John snatched an apple up off his tray and stormed away from Randy, ignoring the calls from his friend for him to back.

"Smooth moron. Real fuckin' smooth." Randy sighed.

Heading out of the canteen, John wanted to go and break something. Randy should know better than to go on at him about Morgan. Feeling the need to burn off the aggression inside, John turned a corner and walked straight into the hulking figure of Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Both dark eyes focused on John, an exhausted expression coming to his face. "Cena." he said without emotion. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Vince," John replied, taking a step back from the Chairman. Dressed in an expense, custom made suit, Vince oozed power and authority and John defied anyone not to feel just a little intimidated by the boss. And that was when he was being nice to you. Considering he now had landed feet first into the man's bad books, John couldn't help but struggle to meet his eyes.

"I'm here to tell you that I'm putting you on the promotion circuit for a while." Noting John's shocked expression, Vince softened his tone slightly. "Listen son, your in ring work hasn't been your best for a while. You know I've done all I can to protect you from all that…business with Jeff Hardy and that boy, but you don't need me to tell you things are still volatile backstage. I think it would be best for everyone if you took a breather from the company. Come back refreshed and all that."

"So I'm being punished for dating a guy." John muttered.

"Don't take that tone with me Cena," Vince snapped. "You should be thankful you still have a job here in my company. If the board had their way you would've gone the same way as Kanyon and had your personal business broadcast over every major news network in the country."

John simply shrugged, fury bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Not only were his colleagues and fellow wrestlers against him, but now it seemed the management were turning their back on him as well.

Recognising his disappointment, Vince placed a fatherly hand on John's shoulder, forcing the superstar to look into his eyes. "I know this hasn't been easy on you John, and believe me when I say I support you. I don't care what you do in your personal life, but when it comes to my company you know I have to do what's best for the business." John nodded mutely. "Just take a couple of weeks. Hit the talk shows, do some signings and be an ambassador for the company. Get your head back in the game."

It wasn't lost on Cena what Vince meant. If he was being honest, he hadn't been wrestling his best for a while now and struggled to focus on anything other than his aching heart. "When you're ready John, come back. You know there will always be a place in our family for you here, and I'll lay the Smackdown on anyone who says otherwise."

Vince's rumbled laugh earned a small smile from Cena. "Thanks Vince."

"Anytime champ. Go see Davies in publicity and he'll let you know your schedule. We'll get you on talk shows, TRL…hell even an awards show. Do me proud son."

With a nod, Vince moved past John, swaggering down the hallway and barking orders at two technicians ahead.

Resting his back against the wall, John released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. A few weeks away from the company to get his head together, and perhaps the gossip would finally die down. Still, John wondered if time away would be enough to heal his heart of the loss that still gnawed away at him. It seemed it would have to be, as he didn't have any other choice. He couldn't live in this haze forever, maybe it was time for him to stop waiting to wake up and feel better, and actually do something about it himself. He had one more chance to be the man he knew he was, and to come back better than before.

After all, what else did he really have to lose?


	6. The Way That You Save Me

**A/N: Update. As always, I apologise for how long it has taken me to update. You could show me your forgive me by leaving a review. And if you don't forgive me, review anyway. I'd like to know what you think. SilverTrinity, you made me smile and I like the way you think. This one is for you.**

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**The Way that You Save Me**

"_Inside I was a child that could not mend a broken wing. Outside I looked for a way to teach my heart to sing."_

The North Carolina Controlled Substance Rehabilitation Unit wasn't all that imposing from the outside. It had been erected in the previous ten years, and had a rather Spanish-influenced Post Modern look to it. Crafted from faux-sandstone, it gleamed like a precious gem against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a final beacon of man made excellence before nature once more took its hold over the land.

The entrance had been crafted into a wide staircase that narrowed at the top with large glass door serving as the entrance. The roof of the facility had a larger perimeter than the structure itself, with large columns equally spaced providing support from the ground up.

Around the outside of the grounds ran a tall metal fence, complete with security cameras. Whilst most rehabilitation facilities operated on a voluntary basis, the NC facility was used for the state's court ordered placements. Previous attempts at escape had forced the creation of a fairly secure security system, although very few every got as far as it during a breakout.

Behind the main building were the grounds of the facility, affectionately called the 'Gardens' by those that lived and worked at the facility. The Gardens seemed to taper off into the countryside; the end merging completely with the trees carpeting the land before the mountains. The lawns were kept immaculate, and two water features provided soothing tranquillity with softly trickling liquid spilling down into the fenced off pools. Staff had learned quickly unprotected pools of even shallow water could lead to near catastrophe.

In the right hand corner of the grounds was a small planting area, where patients were allowed to plant and grow anything ranging from plants and flowers to small vegetables. Agricultural therapy was a proven way to beat addiction, and so this area was used to the maximum of it's potential. Groups of patients were always there, even unto the fading sunlight of the day.

Running down the lengths of the grounds were rows of conifer trees, tall enough to cover the fences behind them, but not enough to becoming looming and oppressive. The only downside of the size, if there could be one was that the trees provided very little shade into the gardens. And it was that fact which currently pissed off Jeff Hardy.

The sun beat mercilessly down on Jeff's head, filling his eyes with an unwelcome, piercing amber glow. He'd just survived yet another false-happy, 'snaps for the most deluded addict' group session and was just about ready to throw himself under a bus.

The slightest of reprieves had come in being allowed outside. Now that he'd completed seven days of his six week incarceration, he was given the privilege of going outside within the facilities' grounds and into the gardens. Of course, Jeff realised the place was locked down like a prison, with security features that would make the cute guy on Prison Break think again. He was able to walk around the ground, but he was never free. Guards, counsellors, doctors and fellow patients were always within hearing distance, always watching him; whispering like he didn't know it was he they were gossiping about.

Even being outside made him uncomfortable. The fresh air and merciless Fall sunshine made him shiver and pant pathetically. Locked in a permanent cold sweat, he dabbed at his forehead with the sleeve of the facility issue shirt and smeared it over his upper lip. Powder blue had never been his colour, and the fibre blend felt like sandpaper against his sensitive skin.

And if that wasn't enough, Jeff was well and truly into the abstinence syndrome of addiction. His skin felt alive, as though thousands of tiny fire ants were crawling over and beneath it, gnawing and biting away at every inch of him. No amount of scratching gave relief, but it didn't stop Jeff. Ugly red welts marked his arms and chest, offset by the white cast covering his broken hand. Feeling broken on the outside and inside, Jeff knew he was falling to pieces.

The craving for a fix, which had once been a dull ache, was now a throbbing agony inside. If he could just get his hands on something; _anything_, Jeff knew he'd feel better. But the doctors wouldn't prescribe a single painkiller for his broken hand, so there was no hope of scoring anything stronger at all. If Jeff were being honest with himself, the pain in his hand provided a sometimes distraction to everything else he was feeling.

Even the cold-turkey approach he was being forced through for his alleged addiction paled in comparison to the artic cold in his heart. Being alone with his thoughts gave him time to dwell on everything that had happened with Morgan. It was at night, when he felt at his most vulnerable. Whilst his body betrayed his need for a hit, it was his heart that made him sob and whimper into his pillow, whispering names of those who would never come for him now. For the first time he was being forced to confront everything that had gone wrong in his life; every bad decision and wrong turn he had ever taken. With no narcotic escape, Jeff didn't think he would survive the sadness.

He'd even resigned himself to the obvious eventual fate of this programme. If the drug treatment didn't kill him, then heartbreak would.

Feeling light headed, Jeff staggered over to the nearest bench in the shade of one of the bay windows of the building. Dropping into the seat, he made a point of ignoring the engraved gold plaque on the back. He didn't care about whoever it was who donated to the facility and for what reason they did it. Why couldn't anyone understand that he didn't care about anyone else right now? It wasn't that he was at all an unfeeling person; rather Jeff simply didn't have enough left to consider anyone else. He'd felt low before, but nothing had gone so far to strip him of everything that he was like he was now.

Tilting his head back, the muscles in his body groaned and scratched across each other in protest. Letting his eyes fall closed, Jeff pretended that they weren't tears that blurred his solitude. He pretended that the void of sadness that was eroding at his edges wasn't about to submerge him completely.

Mostly he pretended that he wasn't alone, that someone who loved him was here and cared that he was hurting. More than anything, he wanted to be encircled in soft, strong arms and have the tears soothed away. Whose arms however, he couldn't say.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed painfully in his head, forcing him to open his eyes. Each footstep sounded like a crashing gong, making Jeff want to rip at his ears until he couldn't hear it anymore. In reality, the slight figure of a redhead woman moved quietly across the lush green grass toward him.

She was wearing the same powder blue shirt as Jeff, and although obviously designed for a woman, she was clearly another patient. The shirt was the smallest size available, and still it hung limply over her near skeletal frame. Her face could be beautiful, although it was sunk and hollow and drawn to a painful tightness over her features, destroying the femininity of her face. On closer inspection, her red hair was more of a faded copper, fine and terribly thin so that you could see the pink of her scalp beneath the colour. Her full lips were chapped and sore, but they still curved into a disarming smile, matching her faded green eyes.

"May I join you?" She asked softly in a voice constricted by a twenty cigarettes a day habit.

Jeff looked at the empty seat next to him and up to her. His mind went blank for reasons unknown, and he couldn't seem to form a response. He couldn't tell if he wanted her to join him or not.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Her laugh was more a giggle, childish and seemingly at odds with it emerging from her adult body. Still, it was oddly refreshing to Jeff. It was the first non-jaded thing he'd encountered since he'd been here. As much as an effort it was for him, he sat up straighter on the bench, at the same time shifting to the left to give her more room. Not that she looked like she needed it. She was so thin, Jeff wondered how the act of sitting didn't break her.

"I'm Alice." She stated, holding her hand out to him. He reached over with his good hand, and so made an awkward handshake with a right and left hand. "You're Jeff Hardy, aren't you?"

Stifling a groan, Jeff let his eyes fall shut. "Listen sweetheart, I ain't in the mood for a meet and greet with a fan okay. I'd rather be alone." He sighed, withdrawing his hand straight away. The last thing he needed now was to have to deal with Jeff Hardy, 'The Legend Thriller'. As far as he was concerned, he didn't exist whilst he was in the facility. The more he thought about who he had been, the more paralysing the shame of his situation became.

Alice looked confused, turning her head to the left as she eyed him with one eye. "I'll leave you alone if you like, but I have no idea who you are if that's the problem. You an actor or something?"

His eyes darted to her face. "You seriously don't know who I am?"

Alice continued to eyeball him in a disconcerting manner. "Nope. Am I supposed to?"

Jeff's eyes were blinking in equal amounts of incredulity and plain shock. He realised she was looking at him strangely because she was attempting to figure who he was, and perhaps even what he was famous for. However, common sense and suspicious still won over. "How do you know my name if you don't know what I do?"

"Because you're the new guy." At Jeff's blank expression, Alice twisted on the seat and crossed her legs on the bench so she could face him. "Listen superstar, we don't get that many new people here. You're the only patient to arrive this month."

Jeff felt his face flush with embarrassment, even as Alice continued explaining. "And besides, Jim and Doctor Hamilton introduced you on your first group talk, remember?"

"No." Jeff was being honest. He didn't remember anything of the sort.

"Well they did. You going to tell me what you're famous for then?" Her green eyes hinted at a sparkle of amusement, but the haze of a long term addict smothered it from life.

"Doesn't matter." For some reason, Jeff didn't want to tell Alice who he was or why he was well known. Some how the humiliation of letting another person see how far he'd fallen was too much to contemplate.

"Alright, it doesn't matter. Most folks who come here use cover names anyway. Makes no never mind to me."

"So you ain't really an Alice then."

The girlish giggle again. "Oh, my name is Alice alright. At least, it is right now. I may change it when I get out of here. I always wanted a more impressive sounding name, like Veronica or Carlotta, or something." Grinning, more at herself than anything, Alice leaned over the front of the bench to pluck a daisy growing in the grass below. "I guess I think it through when I get out, y'know? When I start my new life and all."

Jeff watched her as he struggled to appear human and make conversation. Now that he thought about it, her face was vaguely familiar, although he wasn't entirely sure why. Finding the silence that stretched between them uncomfortable, he said the first thing that came into his head. "You come here a lot?"

Despite his inward cringe, Jeff was relieved to see Alice didn't flinch. "This is my first time in the North Carolina Facility, although I did try a voluntary programme a few years ago back in New York. Didn't work out so great. What about you? You a serial rehab patient?"

"First time." Jeff tilted his head, recognition smoking in the back of his head as Alice's features began to fall into place in his memory.

"So you _are_ a newbie. Well, the facility is pretty good and the counsellors are strict but pretty fair as long as you-…"

Alice's words of wise warning were cut off as Jeff blurted out what his memory had finally pieced together. "Backseat blowjob girl!"

She blinked in surprise, her mouth slightly open to form what she was going to say. Jeff remembered seeing Alice in his first group meeting, and she had bravely admitted what had caused her to seek help; she was prepared to use her body to get money for drugs. Realising what he had just done in exposing her addict shame, Jeff stared hard at the ground, a flare of painful unease shooting through his chest. "I'm sorry Alice. I-I didn't mean…"

Even as Jeff trailed off, Alice was already speaking. "I wouldn't exactly like everyone to refer to me as that, but yeah that's me. Backseat blowjob girl."

"I am so sorry. It just came into my mouth…"

Realising what he'd said, Jeff turned his fearful eyes to Alice who burst into her giggle. Glad she could find humour in his serial foot-into-mouth affliction, Jeff felt a ghost of an embarrassed smile touch his lips.

"If I had a dollar every time I'd said that." Still giggling, Alice dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "So come on then. You know my shady past as an addict. Your turn to share."

Jeff considered her request in discomfort. There was so much he could say, but he wouldn't ever expose himself in such a way, and never to someone he didn't know. "Not that much to tell. I just take stuff because I like the way it makes me feel. I never did anything I didn't want to so I could get stuff, and I can stop whenever I want. And I'm not an addict."

Alice smirked, tucking a strand of limp copper hair behind her ear. "Sure you're not. I hate to break it to you Jeff, but you're on a court ordered programme for drug addiction." Jeff's eyes widened at her knowledge of his reasons for being here. "I work on the admissions desk a few mornings a week. There are opportunities given to us to help us make something of ourselves before we go back out into the real world. I processed you in. You could join the Admin programme too…or maybe not seen as you're famous and all. It's no big deal."

"I'm sure." He muttered, shuffling his feet over the floor.

"Besides, between you and me, you look like you're going through some serious narcotic abstinence. Shivering, cold sweats, irritability. The worst is yet to come my friend."

"And you're an authority on that, are you?" He hadn't meant to snap, but the words and tone were unleashed before he could temper them.

"I am as it happens." Leaning closer to Jeff, Alice folded her hands and concentrated on them. "I've been through it three times, the last time four weeks ago. It is hell on earth until you get through it, and as far as I can tell you're still in the early stages. There are enough drugs in your system to keep you functioning. But once they're gone? Well, it's like I said, hell on earth."

"I feel like hell now." Jeff didn't know why he admitted it, but it was true. Although he knew he couldn't blame the way he was feeling solely on the drugs, he wouldn't admit that to Alice.

She nodded sympathetically. "The facility won't let you suffer. You can get methadone to help you through the worst of it."

Jeff chuckled darkly. "Not me. They wouldn't even give me pain killers for this." He lifted his hand and the cast that surrounded it to illustrate his point.

Alice's eyebrows shot up on her forehead. "Seriously? Nothing? Not even an aspirin?" Jeff pursed his lips, shaking his head. "I bet that was Doctor Hamilton's decision."

Kade's name provoked a shudder in Jeff. "What makes you say that?"

Leaning closer as though she didn't want anyone else to hear, Alice bit down on her bottom lip. "Well, not that I should really say anything, but I heard some of the Doctor's talking, and apparently he's brilliant but a total ball breaker. Like he practices tough love to the extreme and likes his patients to suffer whilst they get over their problem. He doesn't believe in any therapy other than abstinence from the stuff, y'know?"

"That sounds like him alright." Jeff could just imagine Kade getting a real sick kick out of watching him suffer whilst his body simultaneously purged and craved the drugs from his system.

"Sounds like who Jeff?"

Jeff and Alice jumped in unison as the sound of another voice interrupted their huddle. Coming across the lawn was the man himself, and Kade looked relaxed and even slightly amused. The light blue shirt he was wearing had the sleeves folded up to just below his elbows, and seemed to catch the sunlight in a glaring way forcing Jeff to look away entirely.

"Is this a private conversation, or is it okay if I join you?" Kade smiled at Alice as he stopped next to the bench.

"Not at all Doctor Hamilton," Alice smiled politely, "I was just saying hello to Jeff. Figure I'd be sociable and all as he's the new guy. Gerald, the counsellor guy says it's important that we make sure nobody feels alone whilst we're here. "

"That's kind of you, Alice is it?" She nodded. "And that's a good attitude to take. I hope Mr. Hardy has been behaving himself?" It was more an accusation to Jeff ears, but the smile shared between Kade and Alice wasn't lost on him. "Good. I hate to break this up, but Jeff was supposed to be in a session with me twenty minutes ago."

"And you came to get me?" Jeff felt anger boiling in his veins at being treated by a child, but Alice interrupted before it could explode.

"Totally my fault Doctor. I kept him chatting." Alice shrugged her shoulders as if to complete the excuse. "We were just talking about how I got here and we lost track of time. Didn't know I was that interesting."

Alice giggled her giggle, nudging Jeff's leg with her knee. Against his will, Jeff felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards into an almost smile. At the same moment, something chipped at the cold crushing his heart. It wasn't enough to cause any real damage to the barrier, but it surprised Jeff enough that he could still _feel_.

Kade didn't look phased. "It's okay Alice, he's not in trouble. I've got all the time in the world, so I can work to Jeff's schedule."

"Could everyone please stop referrin' to me in the third person when I'm sat here?" Jeff glared at Kade, his petulance more directed at him more than Alice. He found himself half wishing that he'd broken his hand by shoving his fist into Kade's face, although it was too late to do anything about that now.

Kade licked his lips, revealing a perfect white-toothed grin. "My apologies Jeff. I won't do it in future."

Jeff could tell Kade was enjoying every minute of this, and was resolute in his intention to walk out, consequences be damned when Alice tugged his arm softly. "You should probably get inside with the Doctor," she smiled, "don't want to miss anymore time, do you?"

"We had have the session out here if you prefer Jeff? May as well make the most of the beautiful day." Jeff looked blankly in response, deciding silence was the best weapon against such an irritating and obviously arrogant human being. "I'm assuming the blank look is one of consent. Alice, you mind if I borrow Jeff for a little while? I promise to have him back in the same condition that I found him."

Alice nodded with a smile. "Okay then. I'll come find you later Jeff. Good afternoon Doctor."

Alice got up from the bench, squeezing Jeff's shoulder as she did so. Her petit form trudged across the grass, and Jeff felt almost sorry she was gone.

Kade had taken her seat, his voice droning away but Jeff wasn't paying attention. Maybe he could go through the motions after all. He make a few 'breakthroughs' with Kade, and Jeff knew he's be on his way. And whilst he didn't agree that he had any sort of problem, he wondering if maybe being around Alice would be enough to melt away the cold inside his chest. Just being around her for two minutes had given him some cause to hope.

Maybe he would make it through this yet. The thought gave Jeff his fist reason to smile in what felt like forever, but he wasn't about to share that special moment Kade. Rather, Jeff did what he always did and stored the emotion away. Maybe bottling things up were bad, but the one pro was that he could call up the good emotions at another time.

And when he was alone later, Jeff knew he would be smiling again.


End file.
